Tainted Blood
by jcbrenny
Summary: Veela Dramione fan fiction taking place after the war, when they return to Hogwarts for their final year. Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger, Veela!Draco. First time writing fan fiction, please review! DEFINITELY focus on Dramione with a healthy amount of OC’s. If you’re against the ship, don’t read, as that is the main focus. Definitely don’t own HP universe— just having some fun.
1. Chapter 1

The Malfoy Manor had quickly been restored to its former glory, the many gardens blooming despite the dismal clouds that hung overhead.

The same could not be said for the family name. The trial dragged on long after the events of the war had settled, and it had a visible impact on the Malfoy's.

Their once glamorous name had been written off by both sides. They had all been cast out of society. Their status as one of the Sacred Twenty Eight remained, and their elite position in society was in a precarious point, but slipped everyday.

Lucius Malfoy had been stripped of all his Ministry titles, and removed from the Wizengamot entirely.

Narcissa was no longer invited to most of high society's galas and parties, she had barely stepped out of the house for anything besides the necessary testimonies at the Ministry.

Draco was forced to return to school to represent his family name, to keep their place in society. Many of his former friends and eager followers had disassociated from him, as predicted, and Draco knew more than ever that he could not trust anyone.

Between the three Malfoy's, they had led to the death or imprisonment of hundreds on both sides of the War.

The air in the Manor had been heavy for years, but now it contested even the period of time Voldemort lived and walked in the halls.

The family's prospects were incredibly limited, and every single one of them knew it. Their trusted network of confidants and age-old aids were scattered and torn, majority imprisoned or rotting in the dirt.

Lucius and Narcissa didn't care much for that. They had only ever been able to trust one another. They had a much bigger concern on their minds.

Graceful as ever, Lucius moved his chess piece, dark eyes glazed over as he stared blindly ahead of him. It was the eighth month of his house arrest, a lenient sentence on behalf of the connections he still had with higher society, as well as some reluctant admissions of innocence on his family's part from the Golden Trio, who had backed Draco's claim that he had been essential for the Dark Lord's downfall. He had been lucky enough to escape the Dementor's Kiss, but at the price of many other lives. He had named almost all of the high profile Death Eaters who had escaped, and had been essential in imprisoning enough to make an army. Despite his house arrest ending just under a month, in time for his final assessment from the Ministry, he was not keen to reenter society.

Narcissa Malfoy automatically countered her husband's pawn, her bishop knocking it off the board. Her mind was elsewhere as well. Unlike her husband's reminiscing of the past, she fretted for the future.

Her son was one of the very few Slytherins returning to Hogwarts. She and her husband backed the decision, as they needed to put a strong foot forward as the wizarding society headed into a New Age. To have both Malfoy men cowering at home was not a good look.

Dot, their house-elf appeared with a subdued crack, carrying Draco's suitcase with her.

"Masters Mister and Missus Malfoy, Master Draco is about to leave to Hogwarts." The house-elf struggled with the weight of the bag. "He wishes to know if Sir and Madam have any last remarks before he takes his journey."

"Very well," Lucius nodded, foggy gaze clearing with seriousness as he thought of his son representing their family for his last year at Hogwarts. "Summon him."

Bowing, Dot Apparated from sight, returning in seconds with Draco.

He looked gaunt, his eyes sinking into his head, already regal cheekbones jutting out of his face. The past few months had been incredibly trying for the family, countless Ministry Raids, immeasurable amount of social ostracism. Regardless, something deep inside him insisted on returning to Hogwarts for the final year.

"Did you not drink the Sleeping Draught last night?" Narcissa asked disapprovingly, eyeing the grey tone of her son's skin.

Draco shook his head, jaw set in a firm line.

His thick white-blond hair was messy and his light eyes were surrounded by shadow. Already prominent cheekbones were emphasized by the hollowness of his cheeks, brought on by his lack of appetite through his family's trials.

Narcissa tore her gaze from her only son, heart clenching in sorrow.

"That's not what we called you here to talk about." Lucius stood, his hollow eyes matching his son's. "We spoke to you about this issue two years ago. Your inheritance."

Draco nodded grimly, muscled tensing at the idea of another challenge to get through.

"When your mother and I met, we were 18 and 19. Even at that age, we felt as though we were running out of time. It was a very difficult, very strenuous courting period, Draco. You are 19 this year. We fear your delay in finding your partner may prove fatal." Lucius urged. "I am only a quarter Veela, and your mother is half. She has stressed the discomfort she went through, her mother met her destined mate at 17. You must not push fate any longer."

Draco remained silent. He knew full well the implications of not finding his mate soon. The summer he turned 17, his parents had given him a stack of books and a long talk about the Malfoy lineage's more magical attributes. However, that was the same year that political tension increased and he soon found himself doing the Dark Lord's bidding and mastering Occlumency, both rather draining uses of his time. He had been repressing his Veela instincts through the war, unwilling to relinquish more control of his actions after being forced into his father's legacy within the Dark Lord's close circle.

"Draco, this may be your final year. Please do not waste it. We did not fight so hard to succeed for you to die over this." Narcissa pleaded with her son. She knew he had been having his own internal struggles with whether or not he should pursue the efforts of finding his mate.

Draco had expressed his concerns over his fate multiple times to his mother, and she understood his belief that he wasn't meant to find happiness, especially after the family's actions in the war. She didn't blame him. Very few families, pureblood or not, were willing to extend their names in marriage after the events that had come to light after the war.

"I understand." Draco's voice was monotone, eyes unblinking.

He personally did not care if he found his mate or not.

The Malfoy line was as close to disgrace as it had ever been, and he wasn't sure if continuing the cursed lineage was the right thing to do. He had purely lucked out by having his school-age enemies bear witness to his failure to carry through orders, and it was the only reason him and his father were still alive and had their souls intact.

"Remember not to trust anyone." Lucius warned him. "If you find your partner, do not write to us about it. Veela's are protected within the Ministry, but they are on the hunt for anything to hold against our family. I don't need anything getting intercepted. You're Head Boy this year. There is a portrait in your room, which you will use as your method of communication for this matter and this matter _only_. Everything else goes through common owl mail, in case anyone watching your correspondences grows suspicious."

"Of course." Draco cleared his throat. "Will that be all?"

Nodding, his father returned to the game.

Narcissa stood and walked towards her son, drawing him close and pulling him down, leaving a kiss on his forehead.

Draco had grown much taller, which made his lean shape appear stretched out. She patted his back as she embraced him, wishing she felt more flesh on his bones. The trials of the past two years had left her son as unkempt as a Malfoy could get, his face and physique looking malnourished and haunted.

"Don't worry, Mother." Draco's heavy lidded eyes made him seem barely responsive to the world around him, his strangely black eyelashes darkening his gaze.

His father didn't look at him, the pallor in his skin telling Draco more than enough about how successful he thought the young Malfoy heir would be. Narcissa, on the other hand, tearfully gazed at her son, unwilling to tear her eyes from him, lest he disappear before she knew it.

"We will miss you _dearly_, my Draco. One more month before your father is permitted to leave the property. After the assessment by the Ministry, he'll be given his wand back, and we will meet with you as many times as possible."

Draco wrapped his arm around his mother's thin frame, understanding her worries. He would not have advised them to leave the house without both of them having their wands on them either.

Just because his father's former Death Eater peers had been rounded up, didn't mean that there weren't other threats awaiting the Malfoy pair in the vast wizarding world.

"I'll do my best this year." Draco knew he couldn't promise his parents certain success.

The only thing he knew was that his mate had been at Hogwarts in the past, remembering the strange temptation to follow a scent through the crowds in the previous years.

He had chosen to follow his head and complete the Dark Lord's tasks instead, in order to preserve his family's ranking.

This was not a promising lead, as it was highly possible that his match could have chosen to not return due to the previous year's events.

"I'll be late if I keep dawdling."

Bidding farewell to his parents, he took his suitcase from Dot and stepped into the fireplace. With a flurry of Floo Powder, he found himself in the Ministry, where a portly man lead him to the nearest exit.

Ignoring the stares and whispers, Draco stepped into the sleek black car parked outside of the hidden doors.

As part of his family's agreement with the Ministry to remain out of prison and to have their solitude, despite Draco's age, he was not permitted to engage in magic use outside of Hogwarts until his father's final assessment, which was due in a month.

As such, he was not allowed to use his wand or any nonverbal spells, such Apparition, which meant the Ministry has had to arrange his transportation back to Hogwarts.

Staring at his reflection in the window, he rubbed at his temples.

His Veela transformation had been long subdued over the past two years, and after meeting with a couple species experts, he knew he was in for an incredibly painful year, as the less stressful months ahead would prove ideal for his overdue, accelerated growth to begin. He had felt it months ago in the slow but noticeable enhancement of his senses and his ravenous appetite.

In the beginning, it had been hell, a constant deluge of overstimulation, and his already frayed nerves were always on the verge of explosion. But now, he was finely tuned to his abilities and found them only slightly irritating as he tried to ignore the whispered conversations everywhere he walked in the wizarding world.

Besides his senses increasing, he found that his features had changed in the slightest sense.

His formerly gray eyes had paled to a liquid silver, his eyebrows had a higher arch, his lips were more defined, although they remained in their constant scornful position.

His hair had gotten thicker, his white-blond hair developing into a wave, the curl becoming more prominent at the ends.

He was broader and leaner, despite his on-and-off appetite and refusal to enjoy any extra-curricular activities. He had barely left the house since the trials had concluded last year, choosing to send the house-elves out for the necessary errands.

He stood taller than he had at the battle at Hogwarts, despising how his stature made him stand out more over a crowd, as if being the only Malfoy heir wasn't attention seeking enough.

This way, whoever managed to not notice the telltale features of the disgraced wizarding family would be able to see him over most magical creatures.

Opening his suitcase, he rifled through the unread letters he had received from his remaining friends. Taking them out and tucking them inside his cloak to read on the train ride, he closed his suitcase, readying himself as King's Crossing came into sight. The driver parked in front of the train station and Draco wordlessly got out, carrying his luggage with him.

As he made his way through the crowds, ignoring the gaping Muggles and the glaring wizards and witches, he seamlessly found his way onto the school platform and into the train, well before it due to leave, giving him plenty of time to settle into the compartment of his choice and lock the door, getting started on the stack of letters.

—

Hermione stared at herself in the mirror, her brown hair gleaming in the dim candlelight. She was already dressed for her last year at Hogwarts, stomach burning with nerves as she contemplated her choice once again.

To be honest with herself, Hermione wasn't sure why she had decided to return.

Harry had decided to pursue a career in the Ministry, a shadowing position in the Defense sector, which was a promising lead into an Auror position.

Ron had joined a quidditch team in Scotland, training to impress his dream team, the Chudley Cannons.

They often wrote to each other, as their friendship wasn't one to fade over the distance, but they had begun to create their separate paths.

Harry and Ron had promised to visit Hogwarts as much as they could through the school year, as Ginny would be joining her in returning, but she knew they had their individual lives to navigate, and didn't expect them to be able to come by as often as she'd like.

She supposed she was tied to the school with a sense of responsibility; so many students and faculty had fallen in the battle, her position as Head Girl was more than essential in helping restore the usual atmosphere of Hogwarts.

A part of her didn't want to admit it, but she felt a nostalgic draw to the castle walls.

Her time there had been so influenced by Harry and Ron that she felt as though she had barely been able to finish school off in a satisfactory way.

She would never feel completely whole until she felt that she finished her magical education to the best of her benefit.

While her childhood Muggle friends were off attending post-secondary, she couldn't help but feel as though she was unprepared to be independent; stuck at a crossroads of knowledge between the Magical community and the Muggle.

The school would be changed, although physical reconstruction had already been completed, she wasn't sure how confident she was about her own ability to go back to the battlefield which had claimed so many lives. Her hand clenched around her brush, her palm growing clammy as she lifted it to ease the frizz that was already growing from the Australian humidity.

Her parents had gotten their memories back recently, as the last of the active Death Eaters had been round up three months ago. They had chosen to remain in Australia for now, unwilling to go back to their careers immediately when they've lost so much time with their only child. They had eaten every meal together, and gone on countless family trips through the continent during their time together, and they weren't pleased to hear that Hermione was heading back to her old school for her final year.

A rather large part was glad she wouldn't have to deal with the tense dynamic between her, Harry and Ron. During their Horcrux journey, she had made her fair share of mistakes. It had always been a juvenile habit of hers to seek out people who were different from her, but her taste in boyfriends were often too polarizing.

She cringed at the reminder that all of her ex-involvements had been with rather stubborn and insecure, brutish Quidditch players.

After the war, society was slowly righting itself, and Hermione found herself wanting to relate to many of her friends who had decided to not return to Hogwarts in favour of leaving the past behind.

Her trip to Diagon Alley had proved to be rather socially educational at the very least. Many of her former peers had firmly lodged themselves into the new higher elite as the Wizarding World was reorganizing itself.

Reflecting on her own needed maturity and restraint in romantic ventures, she smoothed down the wrinkles in her outfit and carefully put in her new earrings, dainty pearls that hung in a string from her earlobes.

As she steadied herself in front of the mirror, she tucked her wand away into her cloak pocket and busied herself with her luggage.

This year was going to be different. She was finally going to be able to focus on what she needed to; her studies. The additional year in Hogwarts would provide her with some much-needed educational closure after traipsing through the wilderness with her two friends for the better part of the past year.

Her parents, bleary eyed from the barely-there dawn, watched as their only daughter dragged her suitcase down the stairs.

"Honey, if _anything_ happens, let us know, and we'll be there as soon as possible." Mr. Granger insisted, hating that he wouldn't be able to offer his daughter anything besides emotional comfort should anything dangerous occur.

"Don't worry about bothering us, dear." Her mother grasped her hand in earnest. "If we can't make it, we'll make sure to let Mr and Mrs Weasley know. If you make any new friends this year, make sure we meet them."

"Of course, Mum. Love you, Dad." Hermione's eyes teared up at the idea of leaving her parents so soon. "I'll write as much as possible."

"Oh, are you _sure_ you have to go?" Mrs. Granger clutched her hands together, brown eyes creased in worry. "I just don't have such a good feeling about it."

Mr. Granger rolled his eyes playfully.

"It's just nerves, Mum." Hermione shared a mirthful look with her father. They had never believed in anything like premonitions or anything, but her mother was more prone to being swayed by fickle emotions.

"Oh, maybe we'll come by to visit you in the Spring!"

"Not for Christmas?" Hermione teased, knowing the Australian Christmases were something her parents had grown to look forward to, reclining in the sand while she was stuck in the snow.

"Oh… well, perhaps."

Her parents hemmed and hawed, smiling awkwardly before their daughter enveloped them in a hug and readied her wand. They gave her one last kiss and watched as she took a step back, a nervous smile gracing her features.

Her figure folded into itself infinitesimally as she Apparated.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione nervously paced the Hogwart's Express Train's unsteady corridor. She had kissed her parents goodbye and Apparated to the platform after triple checking that she had everything that she needed, but something still felt strange. She was full of energy, more so than she had been since the Great Wizarding War has started.

She walked on her tiptoes, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Something was in the air. Not liking her uncharacteristic feeling of flightiness, she did a quick breathing exercise and settled into an empty carriage, pinning her Head Girl badge to her uniform.

Taking out her brush and mirror, she combed through her hair again, using her wand to mist it with water so it would be more manageable. During her time away after the war, she had spent more time with her mother, who was always quite fond of self-pampering, and she had learnt some beauty tricks after many tricks to the salon. Parting it down the centre and taking out a bottle of charmed gel, she rubbed it through her hair, watching the curls settle and remain defined, the frizz finally gone. If only she had been as interested in beauty and cosmetic care as she had been in books when she was younger. Smiling to herself, she put away everything and settled in with a quill and some paper, deciding to messily scrawl a letter to her parents.

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_I'm writing this letter on the Hogwarts Express. I doubt I'll have time later, with Head Girl duties and whatnot. I already miss you. _

_I'm excited to go back to school, and without Harry or Ron here, it feels like first year again. I can't wait to learn more, I really missed the classes last year. Even after all the horrible things happening last year, there have been incredible advancements in magical knowledge, and the Ministry has kept it under lock and key until this year. I've heard rumours, of course, but there really is nothing like the real thing._

_I've heard that they're changing the way they teach as well. More focus on the students. Just as well. I can't imagine being 11 again after everything that happened and heading to the school, which was just repaired from it being a battle field. _

_Thank you for agreeing with me wanting to go back to Hogwarts. My education is incredibly important to me and I'm so relieved you both were so understanding. I'll be writing back with photos attached as soon as possible!_

_Love always,_

_Hermione Granger_

Tucking the letter into her robes, Hermione breathed deeply, fighting back tears. She wasn't sure if the tears were out of sympathy for the younger students, love for her parents, or nerves about the upcoming school year. There was something electric about the air, but she had felt it ever since she made the decision to return to Hogwarts. She had never been one to entertain unfounded whims, but her mind shot back to her mother's uncertainty. Some part of her felt strange, as though this year was going to shape the rest of her life.

Amused at the thought, she rolled her eyes. If any year were to change her life, it would have been last year. She was a witch and a highly skilled one at that. She had been a crucial part of Harry's crusade to take down Voldemort, and she had destroyed Horcruxes with only a tooth in her hands. This year would be nothing.

Her spine didn't stop tingling. The hair on the back of her neck rose and she felt an inexplicable urge to get up and get out of her compartment. Something was drawing her somewhere else on the train.

"This is ridiculous." Hermione hissed to herself.

Predictably, talking to herself didn't make her feel better. Clicking her newly manicured nails together, she breathed in and out, trying to calm herself, before opening her luggage and taking a quill and paper out again. She needed to distract herself and there wasn't much of a better way to do it than being productive.

—

_Malfoy,_

_I've heard from my mother from your mother that you and your father are well. I don't know why I bother to write, when I know you won't be reading this, self-loathing git that you are. Probably cut yourself off from the outside world completely. I'm absolutely crushed, Malfoy. Incredibly classless of you. _

_Either way, your mother comes around occasionally and let's me know how you're doing. Last week, she said you would be returning to Hogwarts for your final year. I guess I'll find out when I get there, but you can't continue ignoring me at the same school. Surprised? Someone's got to show up and make sure you don't end up Avada Kedavra-ing the whole school. _

_If you haven't heard from Pansy, it's because the entire Parkinson Family has relocated to one of their older properties. They've essentially gone underground, and no one knows where. All the better for her. I doubt she will be able to live down the sacrificing-Potter ordeal anytime soon. _

_I heard they're making you Head Boy. Seems like your father still has some pull at the school. Who would have thought? You better tell me your password as soon as you set it, otherwise it will be me ignoring you. Think of the parties we'll throw, eh? On second thought, McGonagall's probably got you on a leash by your bollocks. Ah, well. We only live until around 150. She's got to retire soon, that ancient bat. _

_Cordially,_

_Blaise Zabini_

_P.S. if you stand me up at the platform again this year, I'm going to set you on fire. _

Draco rolled his eyes good-naturedly. Blaise and his dramatics were a welcome escape from his dark thoughts. Every year, they met at the third carriage, which soon became the designated seating area of the Slytherin Elite.

Last year, he had failed to show as he had wanted some solitary time to reflect on the ideal course of action in regards to his orders to assassinate Albus Dumbledore that year. Of course, Blaise took personal offence.

Just as Draco smirked at the idea of standing his friend up again, he heard the tell-tale footsteps marching down the hall, quickly accompanied with a harshly barked _alohorama_.

"Didn't I tell you last year, and in the letter I sent, that you weren't supposed to stand me up this year—" Blaise ranted, locking the door and turning to scold his childhood friend. "What in Merlin's name happened to you?"

Draco's smile leeched out of his face when he realized he was going to have to decide if he would tell his closest friend, and up until now, trusted confidant, about his condition.

"Shut up." Draco barked, reaching over and slamming the door shut behind him, locking it. "Put some wards up, silencing spell as well. They've got my wand on a trace. If I use any magic outside of Hogwarts, it's my neck."

"Wow, they're more strict that I thought they would be." Blaise whistled as he set the wards, tucking his wand away when he was done. "When I heard your father was on house arrest, I thought you guys were doing pretty well."

"Of course they're strict," Draco all but growled. "They've always hated my family. Every single person my father's threatened, every single person he's ever blocked from getting what they want— not to mention the amount of people who hate Death Eaters in general, they're just waiting for a reason to send us all to the Dementors."

"So your solution is to drink… what is it, hormone and glamour potions?" Blaise prodded at his friend's arm. "Develop an addiction to working out?"

"No." Draco hissed, smacking his hand away. "I need you to take a Vow."

"A vow?" Blaise repeated as he studied his childhood friend, his palms tingling with nerves. What was so secretive that he had to take a vow?

Draco looked as unhinged as he had ever looked, a sickly gleam to his eyes and skin, his body tense and fists clenched. Blaise could feel the magic pouring from him. He was used to Draco and his moods, but there was something dark about him this time. In fact, he looked almost as stressed as he had when Voldemort was living in his house. Surely there was no cause for such anxious energy. After all, the worst is over.

Looking over Draco's improved height and barely contained rage. Blaise didn't think it was wise to voice his opinion.

Draco lifted his heavy eyelids and locked eyes with his friend, lips curled in an animalistic snarl.

The infamous Black temper and their tendency to go insane immediately shot through Blaise's mind. This was the first time he had seen him make any expression with his face that involved moving his mouth any further beyond a sneer or a smirk. He didn't want to test him. After all, he had been closed off from the rest of the world besides Ministry visits for months, and there was no telling what was going through his mind. Like all Malfoy's, Draco was as unreadable as Ancient Gaelic. The only thing Blaise could be fully confident on was the violent aura of stress rolling off his skin.

"An Unbreakable Vow, Blaise."


	3. Chapter 3

Draco really didn't care to return to Hogwarts, after all, both his family name and House had been disgraced during the Battle of Hogwarts, and he was the poster child for both.

Now that he was in Hogwarts, he cursed himself for listening to something as fleeting as a whim.

He knew the hope of a relatively quiet return was ambitious, if not outright impossible, but he had not prepared himself fully for the fury that engulfed him at the words thrown around carelessly about him.

The burning questions surrounded him like fog on a London evening, and he bore it painfully, urging himself to think of his family's name as he fought to keep his composure.

_"__Is it true that the Malfoys sacrificed Dumbledore to bring You-Know-Who back to full power?"_

_"__Malfoy, Head Boy? Of course… that vermin family has money tunnelled away to who knows where …"_

The whispered conversations were as loud as if they had been said straight to his face. Draco burned beneath the surface, silver eyes igniting with fury under his thick lashes.

It was a good thing Blaise had managed to smuggle him some Sleeping Draught on the train. Despite the heaviness that lingered on his consciousness, he fought to remain composed.

_"__Can't believe he's got the audacity to come back. What I wouldn't do to get a crack at him or his horrible family…"_

_"… __walked right over to his Beloved Dark Lord's side as soon as he could—"_

Draco focussed desperately on the thoughts of his family and what could happen should his heritage be revealed. No one must know.

It would sure as hell be suspicious if he sprouted wings and lunged at people for talking to him on the other end of the hall on the first day back to school. He knew the professors were wary of him and wasn't keen on inviting any more disciplinary action than they were itching to give him.

_"— __rumour's that Malfoy's are completely broke, destitute even. My dad's said they might end up selling the Manor…"_

_"… __just like the House of Black, raving mad and completely unstable. Not even their fellow Death Eaters will speak to them…" _

Thinking back to his father's demands that he keep a low profile this year, he grit his teeth. His main purposes this year was to try to stay alive and to normalize the Malfoy name again. This did not include petty, low-class brawls with Sixth Years.

_"__They're an absolutely mad lot, those Malfoy's, thank Merlin they're on their way out …"_

_"… __my sister says the Minister took away almost all their money, I bet Malfoy won't be able to afford his books this year…"_

Draco raised a hand to his parched lips, pressing to remind himself not to use an Unforgivable Curse right then and there. To suggest that the family fortune had been drained by the Ministry of all establishments was almost a worse offence than the time Granger slapped him.

Hermione Granger.

For some strange reason, the thought cleared his mind. He wondered if she had returned. He had read articles about her unknown whereabouts for the past couple of months, while Potter and Weasley made their career choices evident with their announcements and parties.

Raising his eyes for the first time since he had gotten there, he looked over the sea of uniforms. The papers had publicized the Golden-Boy and the Weasel's new attempts at a career, but hadn't mentioned any advancements in her life.

An unwelcome smile jerked his lips upward as he thought of the witch hexing away reporters.

_"… __good riddance, that family should be locked in Azkaban together... horrific lot, I wouldn't be surprised if Draco Malfoy was the last of them all…"_

_"… __heard in good confidence that they're all going to be executed, but if not, their money won't last them forever and their good old pureblood backup marriages for money are ruined... on account of them being war criminals, of course …"_

He wondered if she had even spent the summer in Europe.

His lips twisted into an unpleasant snarl as he was jerked out of the numbness of the Sleeping Draught at the memories that invaded his mind.

He remembered tracing her parent's location to Australia at his aunt's behest, before deciding to turn away at the last minute. It had been at the height of the war, when her bloodlust was at an all-time-high.

Luckily for him, his training in both giving and withstanding torture came from Bellatrix, and it had proven to be another usual weekend night for him, coughing up blood on the same floor in Malfoy Manor that he had once hosted masquerade balls in.

He thought back to that night at the Manor, when he had lied about Potter's identity, when he had the limits of his Occumlency tested by Bellatrix and Voldemort himself. He had passed, not without suspicion, but it didn't save her from being tortured.

Surprisingly, his memories of the night were vivid, and he could remember the smell of the blood through the air. Draco wondered if Hermione hated him for it.

It shouldn't matter. The entire wizarding world hated him.

_"__They're just as bad as Bellatrix, if not worse, at least she was openly insane, who knows what they're really like behind closed doors…"_

_"__Who knows what those Slytherins are hiding, I've heard Voldemort only trusted them… bet they've got hundreds more secrets."_

Distantly, Draco remembered scrying into Granger's family's new home in Australia.

They seemed happy, and he could tell she was a skilled Obliviator. Her father had her unruly curls and her mother had her dark eyes. He recalled watching and getting lost in the realization that despite the tragedy that was sweeping the Magical World, there were people still thriving, with their parents, unbound by time-old magic, and untainted by blood obligations.

For the first time in his life, he wished to have been a Muggle. The memory of the thought jarred him and he jerked back, face paling at the moment of weakness.

_"… __disgusting that they've bought their way out again, but then again even a headless cockroach will die eventually, we'll just have to wait…"_

_"__Absolutely disgusting family...Tyrants, the lot of them. Lucius is going to get what's coming for him and Narcissa's next." _

At the sound of his mother's name, he bristled. His mother had never done anything wrong. It hadn't been her fault that the Veela pull had destined her to be with someone who was willing to go so far in the name of personal glory. He felt his body temperature spike, his upper lip raising in-between a snarl and a sneer.

_"__Aurors found thousands of Dark Arts Artifacts in Malfoy raids, but who's surprised…"_

_"__Oh, you haven't heard what they found at Malfoy Manor? Tons of dark blood magic, huge mass grave …"_

If he were to be honest with himself, it had become harder and harder to keep up the cold facade of the Malfoy name. As his blood turned inside of him, he found that with each passing day, he felt the burning desire to let his anger loose and have his way, no matter what stood in his path.

Blaise ignored his brooding friend, cheerfully chatting up a visiting former-Hogwarts student, as they walked from the Great Hall. Her name was Cara Bianchi, a sharp-eyed professional, and she would have been an Eighth Year Slytherin as well, had she not opted to enter the private sector so quickly.

"It really is a shame!" Blaise grinned toothily. "There have barely been any Eighth Year's in our House."

"I wonder why," Cara remarked drily, dark eyes trained down the hall.

From what they could tell, she was in Hogwarts to ambush one of the poor professors-in-training in regards to a very secretive topic. Secretive enough to withstand the Zabini charm. She had only divulged that it was in regards to a highly unknown topic of Magical research in the Ministry. That was enough to make the both of them lose interest.

Draco huffed, rolling his eyes, his grey bags seeming to drag down his face in the castle's candlelight.

"Hey, if you're going to be in anytime soon, just come by the Slytherin dorms anytime you want and ask for me." Blaise winked as he watched her strain her neck. Suddenly, she caught sight of a new and relatively young professor with blue and bronze charmed braids, laughing and leaving the Dining Hall with Professor Flitwick.

"It's been a pleasure." Cara roughly shook his hand and all but sprinted after her.

"Great, another biased professor. Just what I need this year." Draco sneered in distain as he watched the charmed braids on the new professor's head rearrange themselves in various up-does. Blaise snickered and muttered an agreement about their doomed final marks.

For a moment, all that was heard were their dress shoes, sharply clicking against the stone floor.

—

The Welcoming Feast had been a spacious event, many of the tables rearranged to attempt to make the absence of the fallen less obvious.

It hadn't worked. The vast Hall appeared all the more hollow, and it was clear that many of the students were still reminiscing on the memories of last year.

Hermione sighed.

The amount of House squabbles she had to break apart on the way back to the Head of House lodgings was more than she bothered to count. The animosity between Houses, particularly towar ds Slytherin, had heightened considerably. Even the Prefects were incredibly biased.

A deep frown found its way on her face when she remembered the confusion on everyone's faces when she had stepped in. How they had tried to justify their bullying, taunting, even the physical aggression that they had displayed.

She had felt like hexing the lot of them. When the first years were sorted, there were open boos and insults thrown to the new Slytherins. McGonagall had to step in to remind everyone to be civil.

It disgusted her. The entire war and its efforts seemed to be fading away quickly. In place of blood mania, there appeared to be a new crazed bias arising. People didn't seem to understand the choice of victim did not matter, Hermione clenched her fists in anger.

The principle was what was important. Prejudices were not to be tolerated.

Her head felt cloudy and irritable.

Perhaps it was the strain from Apparating several times, to the Hogwarts Express. As advanced as she was, she didn't know any wizards or witches who could Apparate from one side of the world to the other. Blaming her snappiness on her magical version of jet-lag, she excused herself quickly from a gaggle of Fifth Years who were quizzing her on Harry Potter.

The same strange feeling kept resurfacing, over and over again, but everytime she tried to focus and pinpoint it, it would submerge again.

She spotted a familiar head of red hair in the crowd, the flaming tresses separated into two braids.

"Ginny!"

"Hermione!"

Ginny turned and froze, lips parted at the sight of her friend. Her friends moved on when she waved them forward, carrying down the Hall to the Gryffindor Common Room.

"Where were you? I didn't see you at the Welcoming Feast."

Hermione took in the welcome sight of her friend. She was paler than usual, not surprising with the stressful events that had occurred since the end of the war. Ginny looked impossibly happy, a sign that her relationship with Harry was only getting better since he had returned and been able to set up permanent residence.

"Arrived late. My mom tried to convince me not to come." Ginny shrugged. "You know how she is."

Hermione pursed her lips. She had wondered how Molly Weasley would react to Ginny wanting to return to Hogwarts, especially after Fred's death on the grounds.

"Either way, I had to get some orders from McGonagall."

Smiling, Ginny flashed her Prefect badge. Gasping in delight, Hermione hugged the younger witch fiercely.

"I'm so proud of you!" Hermione squeezed. "I knew you'd get it."

"I wanted to tell you earlier, but I saw you yelling at some Fifth Years and thought it would be best to wait."

"Don't get me started on the ridiculousness that is in these kids heads. I knew this was going to be a difficult role, but I didn't think I would be thinking of resigning on the first day." Hermione groaned in frustration. "What makes it worse is that the Head Boy hasn't bothered with helping. I don't even know if he's here. So many of the Eight Years hadn't bothered to show up. I'm so glad you made it. It's a shame we won't have any classes together. But at least we'll have Prefect meetings together. After all, I am in charge of you."

Ginny playfully rolled her eyes as Hermione laughed.

"Mum was so happy, this was one of the only reasons she was okay with me coming. That, and Harry would be dropping by every month to check on me— us." Ginny blushed. "She really misses you, Hermione. We all do."

"Oh, I'm so sorry I didn't get a chance to come by the Burrow."

"It's alright, we understand. How are your parents? How was Australia?"

"It was really, really... just so good! I missed them a lot. I can't believe the last time I slept at home was over a year ago!" The traces of guilt that had seeped into Hermione's features were gone as pleasant memories flooded my mind. "We went out a lot, I honestly don't remember the last time I spent so much time outside with my parents. When I was younger, I was so preoccupied with books."

"It sounds so fun! And good thing you were such a smart kid, without you, I bet Voldemort would still be in power. Merlin knows Harry and Ron couldn't have gotten past first year without you." Ginny laughed warmly, admiration in her eyes. "And you look amazing! Your hair is ... so pretty! Looks like silk. And you're so tanned! Are those freckles I see? Becoming a Weasley from proximity alone, huh?"

"My mum finally forced me to go out and to some beauty shops with her. Of course, magic creams and gels work much faster than the Muggle way of getting ready and looking presentable, but it was a good introduction. I wish I spent some more time learning about cosmetic charms earlier."

"Well, the rest of us witches are lucky you didn't!" Ginny marvelled at her. Her uniform was perfectly tailored, no longer sloppy as it had been in earlier years, her hair was shining under the light of the castle halls, and her nails were neatly manicured. "Hermione, you've really got to teach me how to get my shite together!"

"Of course, Ginny, you're a Prefect now. We must lead by example." Hermione giggled, mimicking McGonagall's letter that she was sure Ginny received as well.

"You'd think battling Death Eaters would be enough of an example." Ginny rolled her eyes. "I can't believe she needed to remind us of decorum."

Giggling to themselves, the two girls parted ways, Hermione to her quarters, and Ginny to the dormitories.


	4. Chapter 4

The Head of House Quarters comprised of separate living units for each occupant; a bedroom, living room, and kitchen, connected by a lavish lounge which segued into an impressive library. The two units were arranged around the semicircle, in a way that would ensure that each individual have equal distance to the shared resources.

The Quarters were plainly furnished, something that encouraged the creative use of Transfiguration by the House Heads, and each occupant usually transformed the bedrooms into their ideal home environment.

Hermione yawned silently, stretching her limbs as she turned yet again. The crack of dawn was peering through her curtains, despite her efforts to sleep almost immediately when she stepped into the Quarters. Her unit was beautifully furnished, vivid red and browns arranged through the darkness. She had Transfigured the stone floor to a plush carpet, firm but yielding against her tired feet. The four-poster bed was comfortable and soft, her sore muscles resting for the first time that day.

Despite all of this, she felt an intense prickling, dancing on her chest, that prevented her from sleeping. There were random bolts of energy shooting up and down her body, causing her to stay up. Every time her mind drifted and her eyes began to close, she felt a sense of urgency and would be awoken immediately.

Frustrated, she threw her pillow across the room, knocking over a sleeping portrait. Ignoring the image's protests, Hermione decided to crack open her books to get some studying started instead of continuing to waste time.

As the sunrise turned to a full and dewy morning, Hermione leaned back, cracking her back, blinking her eyes furiously.

The words wouldn't stop blurring together. Groaning into her hands, she threw herself out of her bed and stared, unimpressed, at her bedside mirror.

Her hair was incredibly messy, as she hadn't bothered to tie it up or put any creams in it before she slept. In the fall and winter, her frizziness returned with a vigour, and the chill of the British weather wasn't helping either.

Grabbing her wand, she muttered a few charms, untangling and flattening it enough for her to tie it in a slick ponytail with a voluminous mane of curls cascading down her upper back.

Deciding to take advantage of her kitchen, she set out to make some coffee for the crisp fall morning.

Grabbing one of her favourite books, she settled into the couch to wait as the espresso machine started up.

—

Draco gulped down vial after vial of suppressants.

He had an entire potions set in his own personal living area, the cauldron almost bubbling over with the amount of potion he was brewing.

The perks of having his own living space was that his family secret was well protected. That, and the fact that he could change his surroundings to anything he wanted. True to his name, he Transfigured the unit into a small version of an upgraded but luxurious Malfoy Manor. The floors were black marble and crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling at every room. He had installed portraits of his mother and father in the living room, the two nodding in approval at their surroundings.

Upon arriving to Hogwarts last night, he sent out a letter of confirmation to his parents that he had arrived without incident, and was preparing to ingest the potion the next morning, which would make the typical coming of age symptoms much less obvious.

Enough Malfoy vulnerabilities were exposed and he had no intention of revealing his weaknesses to the general public, many of his had active death wishes upon him or his family. He had barely managed to escape the war without letting anyone know of his budding maturity into a full-blown Veela.

In order to keep the changes partially contained, he had to take several potions throughout the day. His pheromone, mood, and magic suppressant had to be taken three times through the day, and on top of that, he needed to set glamours on himself to cover the temperamental appearance of his teeth, as one would immediately notice that over the summer, he no longer possessed blunt teeth like a regular human, but his were rather pointed, in particular his incisors.

Small details such as his clothes mattered as well, and they had dual importance. He had already been tall, but as other students had slowed their growth after Sixth Year, over the summer, he had only grown broader and taller. His clothes had to balance between nobility to show respect for his family's continued elite status, and humility, in order to not promote gossip about the family fortune.

The Ministry _had, _in fact, confiscated many family heirlooms and had them under lock and key under pretense of investigating the traces of Dark Magic, as well as a good quarter of the family inheritance, in order to ensure good behavior and to prevent them from fleeing the country and going into hiding. Unfortunately for the Magical Government, they only had control over what wealth was placed under the Gringotts institution.

The Malfoys were true to their nature and always had an out, there was no way their vast fortunes could have been placed under only one bank. However, they needed to seem less flashy, and Lucius ordered Draco to dress plainly and Narcissa to repeat some of her outfits in public, for the first time in her life. Draco felt bad for her mother, as Rita Skeeter had had a field day documenting that the esteemed Narcissa Malfoy had had to dip her feet into poverty. No more balls or flashy semi-public events were to held at the Manor anymore, not until Lucius' assessment by the Ministry was over.

While he was at the Manor, he usually didn't eat or exercise much, his appetite flattened with stress and his exercise levels were a result of the stabilizing potion he often took while around his parents. They had grown tired of him accidentally smashing rooms to pieces in fits of anger. He had been weaned off of it in the past few months, his father assisting him in keeping his anger under the surface, as all _respectable_ Malfoys ought to be able to do.

However, this meant that he had to keep up a strict exercising regime. He already had Quidditch, and while the practices had been enough for him in the previous years, he knew he had to have a personal training routine as well. Otherwise, as his father put it, his temper would be 'out of sorts'.

Regularly, he would have some tea and fresh fruit for breakfast, but he found his appetite had been revised to revolve almost entirely out of meat, and at least at his current stage, he could barely stomach any fruit or dairy. Today, he had awoken two hours before his earliest class to take his potions.

Grimacing at the bitter taste, he opened his window, collecting an agitated owl from the ledge. His eagle owl, Apollo, glared at him reproachfully.

"Come in then," he frowned irritably. The owl was perched on the ledge resentfully, letting the rain pour through the window. "Apollo."

Letting out an opinionated screech, the owl shook its wings, water spraying everywhere. It had a letter on its leg, obviously charmed against the elements, as Draco failed to find any patches of rain marring the envelope when he untied it.

Looking at the seal, he rolled his eyes. Of course Blaise was lazy enough to send an owl to him when they were in the same building.

Tearing it open, he unfolded the paper.

_Malfoy,_

_I need my beauty sleep and this is stressing me out. I've found a third party to complete what you've requested of me. I will bring her to your quarters in the morning. I've gone to plead my case to the house elves in the kitchen in hopes of cake. _

_Don't worry, I'll bring some when I show up. _

_Please dress semi-casual. We don't want her to think I fraternize with homeless wizards. If you've still got those horrid dark circles, do me a favour and cast a glamour charm. Just because I don't want you to seduce her doesn't mean she has to be subject to such horrors so early in the day. _

_See you soon,_

_Blaise Zabini_

Draco set the letter and envelope on fire, using nonverbal magic as he gave Apollo a treat for his unnecessary journey.

While he awaited Blaise and his unknown friend, he carefully placed cushioning charms on all his potions, waving his wand to begin an assembly line of bottling the contents of the cauldron.

He charmed his next dose of suppressant potions to stick together and he placed them inside his book bag, carefully cushioning them. If his professors were to get a hint as to what he was hiding, he was sure the information would be public to the rest of the school.

His pheromone suppressant was the most essential. The minute he was late on his dosage, he would draw too much attention to himself. His magic suppressant was as essential as his mood suppressant, but he could usually keep himself contained, and in the event of an emergency, he knew he could control his abilities well enough to brew another batch.

There was the distant sound of loud rapping, indicating Blaise's arrival. Springing to his feet, Draco stepped out of his room and locked the door, turning to cross the lounge.

"Good morning." Hermione Granger's voice was soft in the morning, and he froze.

Of course she was Head Girl. Who else could be entrusted to being in charge of a magical student body post-war?

"Hello," Draco Malfoy's first words of the day were a low rumble across the lounge. "did he wake you? Its Blaise at the door."

"Oh." Hermione blinked, her eyes darting back and forth. Between the irritating pounding on the door and a shirtless Draco Malfoy, taller and far more _impressive_ than she could ever remember. "No, I've been up. Couldn't sleep."

"Could be the nerves." Draco cleared his throat, eyes sliding away from her as he walked towards the entrance.

His eyes. Hermione felt uncharacteristically befuddled. They were silver and caught the light of the early dawn like diamonds. She didn't know what to say.

"Congratulations on making Head Girl. You deserve it."

"Thank you. I... I'm glad you came back." Hermione said courteously, before slipping into the library, heart pounding.

Draco froze again, his hand clenching the handle of the door as he watched her disappear into the aisles. Hermione Granger had changed. She wasn't much taller, though she did look stronger, more put together and proud. He supposed winning a war could do that to someone. Her curls were slicked back into a ponytail and her skin was glowing, bronzed freckles highlighting her high, aristocratic features.

He wondered, briefly, if her parents were of societal importance in the Muggle World. Then he realized what he was thinking and who he was thinking about. That train of thought was for prospective political alignments in the pureblood world; friends, business partners, war-time allies, romantic prospects.

Mentally berating himself, he threw open the door and Blaise came barreling in. Behind him, stood Cara Bianchi with a steaming cup — no, it could only be described as a _bowl_ of coffee in her hands. Her dark eyes were muted with exhaustion and her hair was stuck in a bun, opposed to her dramatic old-school curls at the Welcoming Feast.

"Come on, Draco." Blaise rolled his eyes. "Have some decency. That's no way to dress with a beautiful lady around."

Draco ignored him and waved Cara in, shutting the door firmly behind them.

"Be quiet. It's early in the morning. I don't want you to disturb the Head Girl."

Hermione felt her skin flush as she heard Malfoy refer to her in passing. What was wrong with her? She had hated him up until the year before the war, where her hatred had passed into a mix of pity and dislike. His situation was incredibly difficult, but he seemed to have matured since the days of calling her a Mudblood. The entire time she spoke to him, she recited disarming and shield spells, clutching her wand, certain he would attack her for overthrowing his Dark Lord.

She didn't know what surprised her more, his cordiality, or the fact that he didn't seem to care who she was or what had happened. It appeared as though he expected this, and she wondered if the rumours of the Malfoy family's slipping influence were true or just another manipulation tactic to get people to lower their guard.

"Who is it anyways? I've heard it's Hermione Granger." Blaise enquired.

"Hermione Granger?" Cara perked up. "I saw her leaving the Great Hall after the Welcoming Feast. I couldn't believe she chose to come back after receiving all those Ministry offers. She really could have picked any field she wanted."

Draco snorted. Everyone knew Hermione could do whatever she wanted. In older times, she may have been limited due to her bloodline, but now? Nothing was off-limits. A studious member of the Golden Trio who had beyond excellent marks through all her years of Magical learning was unstoppable.

"Probably back for the parties I'm going to throw." Blaise grinned, settling into a loveseat in the lounge. "Come on, Cara, why don't you have a seat."

"Don't get comfortable." Draco yanked his friend up. "We need to go to my room. This isn't private enough."

"Private enough for you to wander around naked." Cara muttered into her coffee.

Again, Hermione blushed, embarrassed at the idea of seeing Malfoy naked.

"I've got pants on." Draco glared at her.

Hermione wondered what the trio were up so early for. Blaise certainly wasn't a Prefect and Cara Bianchi was a secretive Slytherin girl in their year who had decided to not return for the suggested Eighth Year. She had attended Hogwarts briefly, before transferring to a different institution. The last thing she had heard about her was that Blaise was interested in her. If true, the interest appeared to be resurfacing during her short visit to Hogwarts.

"Tactless, Malfoy." Blaise shook his head. "Couldn't have put on a shirt for this? Is an Unbreakable Vow not formal enough of an occasion for His Majesty?"

Hermione had almost begun dozing off, but her entire body shot up at the phrase Unbreakable Vow. She nearly dropped the book in her hands in shock.

"Get inside. Now." Malfoy barked, ushering Cara into his open suite door.

"Don't see why this is necessary." Blaise muttered. "You can trust me."

Draco didn't bother to look at his friend, his wand clenched in his hand. As much as he hated to admit, he didn't want to lose his longest and closest friend. But this was nonnegotiable. He needed confirmation— he needed magic to bond his word. As much as he wanted to trust him, this was far too big a secret to share, unsecured.

As soon as the door was shut, he turned to the pair in his living room.

"Let's get started."


	5. Chapter 5

"I don't want her here." Draco didn't bother looking at the dark-haired witch. Cara looked at him with disbelief.

"I _literally _just—"

"She just bound our Unbreakable Vow!" Blaise glared at Draco. As much as he was willing to cooperate with his friend, his levels of paranoia had crept to insanely high levels after the Wizarding War. Blaise didn't blame him, but surely the secrets of the Malfoy family died with Voldemort. "You can't be serious!"

"It doesn't make a difference to me. She hasn't entered any binding agreement with me. She can't be trusted."

Draco's silhouette was tense in the darkness of the room, his shoulders wide and unflinching. Blaise knew that he wouldn't compromise— after all, this was Draco Malfoy.

It was rare that he ever did.

"What the hell is this, Blaise?" Cara turned on him, eyes flashing. He hated that the energy rush of her morning coffee had apparently just decided to kick in. "You ask me for a favour and it ends up being an _Unbreakable Vow_, and with one of the most powerful Dark Wizards existing, and _then I can't even know what it's about?"_

"You're lucky there are wards on my unit. Hermione is right outside." Draco said darkly, his silver eyes still fixated on Blaise. "Send her out."

Blaise's ears perked at the use of Granger's first name. Interesting.

Cara turned furiously, her dark scowl matchingher tempestuous mane of hair, straining in the bun she had it in. Some of the loose curls had escaped and were falling down to her shoulders in the dim morning light.

Blaise sighed.

Merlin, she was gorgeous. Blast Draco for doing this. She was going to ignore his owls for weeks. Again.

Blaise turned his pleading gaze back to his friend, opening his mouth and then immediately shutting it again.

Blaise knew a lost cause when he saw one.

"I'm sorry, Cara."

"You're ridiculous." She stormed out, slamming the door behind her. "Literally ridiculous."

"Good luck trying to sleep with her after this." Malfoy said flippantly.

"I don't need luck." Blaise snapped, irritated that his long-time crush had slipped through his fingers yet again. "Come on, she woke up early for this."

"I just made _you_, Blaise Zabini, take an Unbreakable Vow before I even agreed to tell you anything. Why would I ever trust her?"

Blaise thought about it before dropping the endeavour.

"Fine. So tell me."

Draco looked at his friend, stretched out languidly on his living room sofa. He couldn't say he was surprised that Blaise took the Vow. He had been a silent supporter of the Malfoy family since before Hogwarts. They had known each other since the crib and he knew the request had wounded his pride. Draco couldn't care less; it had to be done.

"I'm going to die this year."

"What?"

"My time is limited, my chances of survival are low. I'll be honest with you. It doesn't matter for me. I expected to die sometime last year. At this point, it's been prolonged too long."

"If you're going to die, why did you make me swear to never tell anyone who didn't already know? What's it to you? You'll be dead." Blaise loved needling Draco. "Oh, and when you're dead, can I take Polyjuice Potion to pretend to be you and then take over your Quarters?"

"Shut up."

"How are you going to die, anyways? You survived a bloody _war_, but coming back to Hogwarts is what's going to kill you?"

"I'm cursed."

"Big deal. You're a Malfoy. Your mother is Narcissa Malfoy, formerly Narcissa Black. your uncle is Rodolphus Lestrange — legally, you're tied to almost every family of the Sacred Twenty Eight. Your blood family probably created the majority of curses anyway. We'll just go to the Malfoy library and —"

"It's not like that. It's my inheritance." Draco felt the familiar flare of anger well up in his veins.

"Oh, way too bring up being filthy rich in every conversation. Cursed with more gold than anyone's ever set eyes on, huh? What a horrible fate."

"It's my blood. No matter what I do— I can't escape it. My mother and father are part Veela and I'm coming into my inheritance this year, for sure. My father is a quarter, my mother is half. I'm three quarter Veela, which will mean... if I fail the rituals of adulthood, I won't survive. There's not enough of my brain that isnt dependant on my Veela blood. It's dependant on the evolutionary needs of my... _kind._"

Blaise whistled, slumping into the couch cushions. "Well, I should hardly think that's a curse. That explains how you got so fit while being a hermit, you git."

"They met each other while they were at Hogwarts. They said although they were less Veela than I was, it was a very strenuous period of time before they discovered their compatibility and bonded."

"So you've just got to find another Veela. Ever the melodramatic prat, Malfoy. We'll just head to Beauxbatons, or some other far off school where they haven't heard of your disgraced family and— "

"That's not how it works. Veelas are predestined for someone. Usually we follow our instincts and find them, but I haven't been prioritizing them. I know it's someone in the school. I felt it back in Sixth Year, but I had more important things to focus on."

"Can you tell if she's still here?"

"No. I've been taking suppressant potions." Draco opened the door to his room, where the potion bottles sat, corked and ready.

"What if you don't _bond_, whatever that means, with ur predestined partner? You'll just suffer a little bit? Hardly a challenge, you babysat the Dark Lord."

"This is much worse than a few Crucio's. I will die."

"_What?_" Blaise stared at Draco. "Does any of the professors know?"

"As if I'd let any of those loose-lipped oafs know anything about me." Draco snarled.

"Well, when did you start taking the potions?"

"Middle of Sixth Year. It became unbearable for me." Draco recalled his blazing temper and overwhelming urge to track and hunt down his mate. "I know the girl isn't in Slytherin. I would have been forced to confront her if she had been that close to me for so long."

"Oh, great." Blaise stood and began pacing. "Just when I thought I could rest. This girl is from one of the Houses that absolutely detests you, she isn't a pureblood, because God knows your mother had countless parties with prospective brides in Sixth Year... The likelihood of your death increases with every piece of information I'm given."

"I know. Even if she didn't hate me, I couldn't imagine why anyone would want to bond with me. The Malfoy name is in need of severe repair and everyone apparently believes I'm destitute."

"I don't think everyone is a gold digger, Malfoy." Blaise clapped his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll do my best to help you. If you die, well... good luck. When you get to the afterlife, hex Dumbledore for me, will you? Old coot kept giving me detentions for snogging in the library. As if his snooty little Gryffindors weren't doing it too."

"You don't need to help me. I just told you so you'd know. I spend the most time with you, if I go savage on you, I figured you should know why."

"Merlin," Blaise blanched. "I forgot about the whole magical creature transformation. You've got the wings and the beak then?"

"I'm not a full Veela." Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I've got a few tells... but otherwise, as long as my temper is kept level, it's a very hard thing to pinpoint. You'd have to have reasonable suspicion already in order to even guess it was something like this."

Blaise stared. "So what do you have?"

"My temperature runs quite hot and I've recently developed a pyromanic magic tendency when upset, but my parents said it was highly unlikely I develop any physical abnormalities. My mother said the wings... were a risk. But as long as I keep my temper, everything should go smoothly."

"Right. You keeping your temper." Blaise coughed out a laugh. "I'm not going to risk my life on that. If you burn me alive, I'll haunt you and make sure you never get anywhere close to whoever you're mated to, so when you die, I can bully you in the afterlife."

"Don't worry. I keep my potions on me at all times." Draco checked the time. "I need to get dressed and ready for class. I'll see you soon. Next time, Blaise, if you promise me cake and don't bring any with you, I'll throw you out the window."

"Oh... right. Well, about that... I ended up eating it all."

As they walked back out of his entrance and through the lobby, a still chortling Blaise bumped into Granger.

"Fancy seeing you here." Blaise grinned. "Not scared to room with the infamous Draco Malfoy, are you?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Hermione snapped before she could help herself. "We're not rooming together. He's been civil."

Draco blinked in confusion at her anger. The witch seemed tense, nervous energy rolling off her tense shoulders.

"Not scared then. You look stressed out." Blaise shrugged. "Malfoy gives brilliant back rubs, I've heard. Won't give me one though. Try your luck."

"Blaise." Draco glowered at his friend, holding the door open for him. "I'll see you at breakfast."

"Don't worry." Blaise clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll find the perfect girl for you."

Wordlessly, Draco shoved him out the door and locked it, fury written in the hard lines of his body.

Hermione didn't let her eyes stray from the sterling silver eyes that locked on hers from across the room.

"Feeling better?" Malfoy asked, looking at the discarded cups of coffee on the ground in the lounge. "How long was Blaise here?"

"Under an hour."

"Three cups of coffee in an hour?" Malfoy looked at her. "Doesn't seem healthy to me."

Irritated, Hermione opened her mouth to snap at him, but found herself speechless as he bent over to pick the cups up, his biceps shifting under his skin.

Draco Malfoy made a show of picking up her garbage the Muggle way in order to keep his mouth shut. He was horrified to discover he genuinely felt a slight concern for the Muggle-born's well-being. Perhaps the amount of potions he was on was destabilizing him. That must be it. Especially after going through a magically binding ceremony with Cara and Blaise— of course. He tried to brush it off, but felt perturbed regardless of his internal excuses.

"It's my mess." She squeaked out. "I was going to clean it up."

Ignoring her, he picked up the last cup and vanished it speechlessly.

"Have you gotten the outline for Head Duties?" Draco rubbed hie eyes. Something felt strange. He had been on edge since arriving at Hogwarts, the comments from his schoolmates pushing at his temper, but in his quarters, in that particular moment, he felt completely calm. At ease.

He didn't trust it. Had Granger bewitched the cups? How had she known he would pick them up? What kind of enchantment would have this kind of calming effect on him anyways?

He looked at her, uncertainty tracing his refined features. She didn't look threatening, slightly shivering in her satin robe.

"Yes. I've reviewed them. Have you?"

Draco thought back to his night spent brewing potions. His mouth flattened at the idea of having to drink all of the bottled potions by the end of the month.

"No. I haven't had the time."

"We're going to have our first Heads meeting with Professor MacGonagall in two days, and then our first meeting with the Prefects in five. You should have timie before then." Hermione turned, the image of a sleepy half-naked Draco Malfoy branding itself into her mind.

She tried to remember what he had looked at in his family estate. his black clothing making him sink into the walls and darkness of the Manor. He had been thinner then, gaunt even. His eyes had been pale then, but still gray. Now, she felt as though she was staring at polished metal. His hair had been unkempt and she had seen the unstable way he carried himself. Not quite a limp— she couldn't imagine a Malfoy ever going as far as _limping_, but his legs carried a tremor. She had seen the same tremor in victims of Bellatrix, such as Neville's parents.

She wondered if he had ever been tortured by his aunt.

Draco was silent behind her, but she could feel his heavy presence in the room.

He didn't walk with any of that hesitation anymore. Hermione wondered how he had fared during the war. She knew he was intelligent enough to be favoured by Voldemort, and cunning enough to be punished by him under suspicion. She wondered if the entire Malfoy family had healed as well as he appeared to.

"Hermione."

The sound of him calling her by her first name made her chest constrict. She didn't know what emotion flitted through her mind, but when she turned, there was no denying the curiosity and unadulterated shock in his gaze, as if he hadn't meant to say anything at all. As soon as she made eye contact, he looked away, at some point above her head, before returning his gaze to her eyes, wiped of emotion.

"I would like to make it clear that I am... intrigued by the prospect of working with you this year."

Draco didn't step towards her or move at all, besides hold her gaze. His stillness could pass him off as a statue in any other scenario. He had no idea why he had felt the uncontrollable urge to call out to her, and could only attempt to save his dignity with a controlled flow of words. He was being honest, of course, but it was utterly humilating. Offering an explanation, speaking to a Muggle-born when it wasn't necessary. Malfoy's were above this.

Draco had never felt more conflicted in his life. He felt as though he owed her _something_ and if a few words were going to make him feel better about this unknown debt, he would spit them out.

"Despite unfortunate history, I acknowledge your magical and intellectual ability."

Hermione did all that she could to not gape at him.

Was this his attempt at an apology? She had not expected any acknowledgement of her existence at all once she saw his white-blond hair earlier in the Dining Hall, and had come to terms with a particularly nasty working relationship with him after seeing him in the lounge earlier in the morning.

Draco could feel each bead of sweat crawling down his back. His knees were locked and his feet were rooted to the ground. What was he doing? This did _not_ make him feel better. This made him feel like shitting himself.

He hadn't planned on doing any of this. He had planned on maintaining a minimum amount of contact with her in the short duration of his life span, and then dying an honourable death.

He felt humiliated, utterly ashamed of his overly-emotional outburst. Of course, he remained as blank and emotionless as ever, continuing his spiel as thought it had been organized, drafted and edited into a final copy, and he was reciting it in front of the Wizengamot itself.

"It is my hope that in the unlikely event that my behaviour or rulings as Head Boy prove to be unsatisfactory, you will directly contact me and we can work towards a resolution without alerting MacGonagall. From what I understand, your judgement and leadership skills are..."

Draco wanted to kill himself. The words wouldn't stop coming out.

Hermione's copper eyes were wide open, her heavy eyelashes framing them in an almost exaggerated doll-like expression of shock.

He wondered why he had never allowed himself to look her fully in the face before. She was... Draco hesitated, his mind blanking. She had a very symmetrical face.

Yes. Symmetrical. Her eyelashes were incredibly thick, and her hazel eyes seemed to glow in the lowlights of the morning.

Symmetrical.

He would allow himself to think that much of her. Tearing his eyes away as though it burned, he focussed his sight on the wall behind her again.

"... trustworthy, to say the least."

Hermione wasn't sure what was going on. Draco had gone from malicious bigot until Fifth Year to Voldemort's assassin from Sixth to Seventh ... and now his new role was... dubious leadership peer.

"What are you doing?" She couldn't help but blurt it out. What was he hoping to gain from this?

Draco cursed himself and his ancestors when she asked him the blunt question. He knew she would ask. He had no idea what he was doing.

"In an effort of goodwill, I have outlined my intentions and methods of contact while retaining the position of Head Boy this year."

Hermione blinked slowly.

"The time is admittedly inconvenient for a discussion of this matter. I would like to bring forward the notion of offering you time for introspection and a later date of discussion." Draco continued, voice as smooth as ever.

"What time would be convenient for you?" Hermione asked, still feeling as though she had been stupefied, but not wanting to seem like a class-less fool in front of what had once been her most loathed classmate.

"It is at your convenience. I am willing to schedule it for three days from now." Draco Malfoy had slowly extended a hand and stepped forward.

"That's— Okay. I'm available then." Hermione pinched herself for stuttering.

Draco felt every cell in his body tingle as their hands touched. He withdrew hastily, worried his elevated temperature would raise suspicions, and concerned about the immediate effect the feeling of her soft skin had on his hormones. Nodding curtly, he retired to his room.

Hermione frowned slightly. All that talk about starting on a fresh note, and he seemed as disgusted with her as ever. He even seemed to be hitching his breath. Of course, Draco Malfoy, ever so dramatic, afraid of even breathing the same air as her.

She thought back to earlier in the morning, his tenseness and the clear strong wards of his apartment. When Blaise's friend, Cara Bianchi, has stormed out of his unit, Hermione had been lounging on a loveseat, skimming through a book. She quite literally felt the rippling of magic and Cara slammed the door to Draco's apartment closed, and caught a strange kind of energy from within the unit— old, old magic and something that smelt like fate.


	6. Chapter 6

Draco Malfoy twitched in his seat, a sheen of sweat on his pale skin, feeling the unbearable heat of the potions classroom smother him. It hadn't been so noticeable in the past couple of years spent frequenting this classroom, but his body heat had elevated tremendously through his ongoing transformation, and he felt as though he was being cooked alive.

Blaise flicked his first graded paper off his desk, the sweat pouring down his temples. The stone walls seemed to insulate the already burning classroom. His usually well-maintained curls were frizzy and untamed in the heat.

Blaise shifted uncomfortably as he shot a look to his friend. He didn't know if he was hallucinating from possible heatstroke but the usually icy Draco Malfoy appeared to emitting a very intense aura of heat. Sticking out a hand between them, he cursed.

"Merlin, you are _burning_." Blaise wiped at his forehead, quickly moving his seat far away from Draco. "Do you have a fever? I swear if you get me sick— "

Rolling his eyes, Draco cast a non-verbal spell and the air in their immediate vicinity began cooling down.

"Maybe you can figure out a spell for me not be immune to whatever virus you have." Blaise was covering his nose and mouth.

"Oh, shut up." Draco glared at his friend. "I'm not sick."

The professor and his two Ministry shadows, both prospective magical professors, were gathered around a scorched cauldron, as were most of the class. Draco and Blaise had declined to join the group of people, grimacing at the thought of getting any closer to the burning contraption.

"Malfoy and Zabini." Professor Vaunt's dark eyebrows creased together, disapprovingly waving the two students over. "Please join the rest of the class, the temperature of this potion must be constant in order to avoid any… er, combustion."

"Combustion?" Neville asked nervously, taking a step back with the majority of the studeits that were formerly huddled around the potion.

"Survive a war, still scared of potions." Blaise muttered underneath his breath.

"Well, Longbottom, this _is_ a newly perfected potion. The first of it's kind; Amelioratious, also known as Angel's Kiss. It's a modified version of the Draught of Peace, as well as a few lesser known... and rather dark potions, but— it's characteristics are unique and purely beneficial, if you should succeed in brewing it."

Draco eyed the 25 step list of meticulous instructions. It bloody better be worth it, if it took this long to brew. If he weren't a Malfoy, he would have been concerned at the cost of some of these rare ingredients as well.

"Yes, yes! This is much more difficult than the Draught of Peace, as we have all observed, and has much more picky environmental standards. Of course, with all of that, one will realize that this one with the added benefits of _not _putting you to sleep, but rather allowing you to continue through your days, and your duties, with a clearer mind and a more organized sense of self."

Hermione eyed the potion dubiously. The ingredient list for this concoction was lengthy and the details even more precise than brewing Felix Felicis.

"Should you suffer from any ailments, this potion will cure most of them, provided you consume it routinely, even illnesses of the mind. The various ways to utilize it also adds to it's appeal. I will go over such details _after_ one of you are successful in brewing a batch." Professor Vaunt stirred the dark drink once more, before tapping the table next to him.

"Angel's Kiss is kind of a presumptuous name, though, isn't it?" Theodore Nott snorted, breaking into a bout of coughing as the fumes overcame him. "Merlin, this is some strong stuff."

"Ah, well noted, Mr. Nott!" Professor Vaunt exclaimed, using his wand to attempt to gather the steam into a controlled area of the room. "Can anyone handed a guess at the origin of the name?"

A few faces turned expectantly towards Hermione, who blushed and looked down, an embarrassed scowl taking over her features. Of course, the one summer she had followed her friends' advice and let school preparation take a back seat to having fun and rebuilding her life... especially her social life, which took quite a hit when she ran off with Harry and Ron to win the final round of the war.

"The Name Angel's Kiss is due to the feeling of peace that one feels after taking it. Of course... this is an allusion to one of its simpler twins in potioneering— the Draught of Living Death, which I'm sure you've all covered before— but this is only similar in the calming sensation. Amelioratious, the formal name, brings focus back to its all encompassing alleviation of the bodily and mental ills."

Blaise whistled low, eyes squinted to fight the blur of the smoke in the already dark potions room as he tried to focus in on the ingredients.

"This ... I've never heard of a potion so advanced, especially with this kind of promise." Marianne Jules, a spindly Ravenclaw, whispered excitedly to Theodore Nott, who looked suspicious of the ingredients list. "I wonder where they found the information for it."

"Not the Zabini, Black, Malfoy, or Nott Houses, that's for sure." Theodore mused. "Not that anyone would have expected an all-healing potion to come from any of our families though."

"Well, the Macmillan's certainly weren't this advanced in Potioneering." Marianne nervously referenced her mother's side of the family, a last name that often drew sneers and hissed insults of _blood-traitor _before the end of the war, her thin fingers clenched as she thought of the Darker familial associations of the wizards around her.

"No, I suppose they weren't." Blaise huffed out a laugh, ignoring the tension in her face. "But we all know where to go for some rather nasty hexes, don't we?"

Marianne flushed at the dark compliment. The Macmillan's might have been on the Light side of the war, and her cousin Ernie was a staunch Dumbledore supporter, but the fact of the matter was every pureblood family had their focus in the magical world, and more often than not, the Dark Arts bled into it.

"I suppose it's better than the Jules, isn't it?" Klaus Germaine, a stocky Gryffindor, peered over his shoulder at the tall girl behind him. "Is it true, Marianne, that your American line of the family specialized in illegal cross breeds? Like the Zorbats?"

"Er... a Zorbat?"

Theo stared at Marianne warily, no doubt remembering Hagrid's love of dangerous creatures.

Marianne flushed again and opened her mouth to explain, but Professor Vaunt's voice cut through the mist.

"Now, please get seated as we finish up the potion, and await further instruction. I will be pairing you off as soon as the majority has gotten settled."

"Perfect, you better buy me a vial for being your friend and constantly being subjected to your contagious illnesses." Blaise whispered.

"Keep talking and I'll hex _you_ sick." Draco wiped cold sweat off his face. He needed to get out of here. "You know it's not an illness."

"As we all know, the aftermath of the recent War are not ... all negative. There have been unprecedented advances in medicine, spells, potions, and our collective knowledge has expanded."

Hermione bristled at the casual mention of the war. It was still too fresh in her memory to talk about any _benefits._ Not when so many had lost so much.

Across the room, the group around Draco reacted similarly; Draco stilling completely at the memories that flooded his mind, before compartmentalizing quickly, and clearing his face of the mutinous fury that rose to the surface. _Malfoy men don't let their enemies know what they're thinking. _Blinking, Draco flexed his jaw uncomfortably. It was hard getting out of the habit of thinking back to his father's quotes, after all his lessons on how to behave while growing up. And it was harder still to let go of the idea of enemies, even in a Potions classroom at school.

"Now that Blood Mania has reached the lowest point in history, there are many secrets of families of the Sacred Twenty Eight that have spilled out to the public. Pureblood families have the longest history of magic, and using their documentation of previously unknown practices and skills, we have been able to find an influx of truly amazing new methods of improving life."

Draco scoffed to Blaise.

His family's secrets had been stolen by the Ministry through their periodic raids. Their only conciliation was that the officials would never be able to utilize the confiscated objects, as they were bound by curses that even the most skilled wizard couldn't get past. There was a big difference between Dark Magic experts and practitioners of Dark Magic, such as his family.

"Something to add, Mr. Malfoy?

One of the Ministry shadows approached the pair, attempting to appear menacing. Klaus looked at him warily, whispering something to the wide-eyed girl at his side, and they both shuffled off, a little further from Draco, but still within hearing distance.

So much for Gryffindor courage.

Draco rolled his eyes. He had been Voldemort's housemate. There was absolutely nothing that could remotely begin to best the months of horror that had gone on in the Malfoy Manor.

"Jayce." Blaise nodded, gleefully noting the angry man. Suddenly, he seemed incredibly unbothered by the intense heat, having found someone to torment seemed to take his mind off of his own discomfort.

Jonathon Jayce was one of the many 'experts' that the Ministry had called in to examine the evidence taken from many of the pureblood houses. He had extensive knowledge in a couple of fields, and judging from the deep swelters that spanned his neck and lower face, he had been summoned to Malfoy Manor at least once.

"You better stay focussed if you even want a _chance_ at a career after Hogwarts." Jayce sneered, mostly at Draco. Glancing around, he caught the eye of an unimpressed Theodore Nott, who returned his glare just as heavily.

"Looking to get off the active field?" Draco pressed, a wide grin on his face, purposefully letting his eyes sweep over the evidence of the extensive injuries.

"Guess you're not as much of an expert as you thought. I trust the Ministry has an excellent benefits package to make up for that fiasco." Theo stepped past Marianne smoothly, standing in front of the furious man.

Blaise boldly reached out an inquisitive hand to poke at the professor-in-training's neck. Jayce slapped his hand away, his scarred jaw's muscles flickering with rage.

"Interesting memorandum, sir." Blaise snickered, leaning towards him to peer at the mottled scar tissue. "Fancy telling us what exactly gave you this?"

"_None of your business!"_ Jayce snapped in a venomous tone.

Marianne refused to move, not even a flinch, as she decided the best course of action was to stare straight ahead at the board and ignore the men behind her.

Draco leaned towards Blaise's ear and whispered too quiet for anyone to hear. Blaise clapped his hands together, aghast.

"So _this_ is what that bloody thing does."

A smirking Draco nodded at his friend, who nudged him in disbelief.

"No wonder your father got so upset with us when we found it." Blaise shook his head.

"Never without reason." Draco recited the too-familiar mantra of the former Malfoy Head of House, as he shot Jayce a haunting grin.

"He always preferred the non-evidential curses. Pity he didn't use them for protection, huh?" Blaise laughed. "Sucks that you couldn't have detected the wards before you got so touchy with someone else's property, huh? What happened? All the good curse-breakers die in the war or something?"

"Keep that smug little mouth of yours shut unless you want the Zabini home raided as well. You purebloods are all on a watchlist." Jayce turned an ugly shade of red, which matched the marks on his skin, and barked another order at the two men before returning to assist with the potion.

"_Which_ Zabini home, exactly?" Blaise snickered. As Jayce's face reddened with anger, their attention was brought back to the front, as Professor Vaunt resumed speaking.

"Additionally, there have been some necessary amendments to the way classes are taught. Especially when peer projects are involved." Vaunt cleared his throat as he returned to his desk, peering down at the scroll in front of him.

Hermione thought back to the opening speech this year, and the precocious atmosphere in the hallways as she did her patrols. Definitely to promote inter-House unity. Personally, she thought it was a bit late. Obviously a good effort, but this should have been implemented centuries ago.

"Please read the first page of Section 10 in the Potions for the Mind, which are on the shelves to the left of me, and discuss with your peers. You may notice that the textbooks that you've picked up for this year are much larger than previous years. Again, it's due to the influx of recent knowledge, all resulting from the beginning of what appears to be true unity in the wizarding world." Vaunt nodded to himself, scratching at his salt and pepper stubble. "All sacrifices have their reward. Anyways, as soon as you've completed your reading, there is a list based on previous assessments and intellectual compatibility. I will be selecting the pairs now. Partnerships in Hogwarts are essential to your growth and should promote unity between the Houses, especially given the events of the last year."

Draco eyed the massive textbook, already eager to explore what he knew would be freshly unearthed secrets of the Sacred Twenty Eight.

Sure, he was a little mad that the pureblood secretswere being exposed, but he really didn't have it in him to muster up any energy to have a proper emotive reaction besides what barely counted as irritation.

"I'm surprised Malfoy's back." Neville whispered to Hermione. "Didn't think he'd show his face this year, after everything."

Startled, Hermione mumbled in agreement. She had been watching Malfoy and Jayce, the professor-in-training, curious as to what the connection was. The scarred older adult had looked positively murderous when he had approached Malfoy and Zabini. The group around them had reacted strangely, Theo Nott almost rushing in to antagonize him, and the Ravenclaw girl next to him seemed terrified. Letting herself look around the room properly for the first time, she found herself shocked at a rather substantial amount of unfamiliar faces. "Do you think Jayce knows him?"

"Wouldn't be surprised if Malfoy gave him those scars. Did you see how angry he looked?" Neville shuddered. "Heard he's an Auror. Wonder what he's doing as a professor in training. D'you think he's just here for Malfoy and the rest of his little Death Eater friends?"

"Oh, come on, Neville." Hermione tore her gaze away from the sick-looking silver haired man and fixed her glare on her long-time friend. "As if we need any more of _that_ kind of attitude."

"Bet Malfoy tortured someone he cared about." Neville bristled under her stare. "What? You and I both knew his aunt."

When Hermione's reaction didn't budge, Neville crossed his arms defensively.

"Come on, Hermione. There was a _war_, how am I supposed to feel?"

"A war started by years and years— generations, really of prejudice. If you haven't noticed, Draco Malfoy is the only _real _Death Eater affiliated student to have come back this year." Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're a pureblood, you know better than me about how far underground those families have had to go. And you know how long the ostracism will continue— generations. I think that's punishment enough."

Neville grunted, refusing to meet her eyes.

"Drop the Death Eater thing, Neville. It's for the good of the whole school. We're supposed to be back to be leaders, not to parade around as war hero's and scare children. We have to lead by example and show the kids how to act around Hogwarts in the wake of the Great War."

Neville's frown faded away as he clenched his jaw, averting his eyes as Hermione chastised him.

"Even if some Slytherins were on the wrong side, I don't want the hate carrying down to the first-years. They must be _terrified_. And if you ever hear anyone else talking the way you were, if you truly care about justice, about equality — you'd better correct them as well." Hermione snapped, before turning her face away from her disappointing friend.

Blushing with embarrassment, he nodded. Hermione ignored him.

There was a beat of guilty silence, before Neville tried to restart conversation.

"Not really a surprise that he's got Head Boy. Just when you think the Malfoy's are dethroned..." Neville rambled nervously.

Hermione didn't bother to reply, just shrugging at his words. Nothing about this arrangement truly surprised her. After the things she's seen, she didn't know if she would ever truly be surprised anymore.

"Oh, and, well— it's no surprise to any of us, but congratulations on making Head Girl."

"Oh…" Hermione tore her gaze away, eyes resting on Jayce, standing behind Professor Vaunt.

Now that Neville had said he was a rumoured Auror, she was almost sure he had gotten his disfiguration from the Ministry raids on the Manor. She wouldn't put it past the family to have warded everything they had viciously, especially after what kind of dark magic she had seen and _felt _at the Manor. "Yes, I'm rather excited about this year."

"How's the living situation?" Neville asked, envy dripping off his words. "I heard Heads get their own quarters."

Hermione let a smile creep into her features at the lighter topic, remembering her room.

"It's nice, quiet. To be honest, a welcome break from the past year." Hermione thought back to the year spent on the run with her two best friends. The plush comfort of her new quarters was a much needed reprieve from the wilderness.

The short amount of time spent in civility was in the chaos of the Order's buildings or the Weasley family home. As much as she loved them, she couldn't say, in good conscience, that the living arrangements had been very comfortable or ideal in any way.


	7. Chapter 7

Hermione used her wand to flick open the curtains of her room, eyes half open to the darkness outside. It must have been barely four am, but she was having a fitful sleep, and didn't think she wanted to risk successfully falling asleep and then failing to make it to her classes.

This year, she had booked every possible class she could. She was fairly certain she would be able to apply for every single career in the wizarding world with her grades and her academic background, but she had applied due to her thirst for knowledge. Besides, she had a pretty clear idea of what she wanted to do.

Stretching and rolling out of bed, she headed into her en suite bathroom, going through the motions of the morning, playing some of her favourite Muggle music from her record player as she prepared for her shower.

Singing along, she felt the blissful steam roll over her skin. After her long stint as a wanted criminal in the eyes of the Ministry, she had finally come to appreciate luxury, and as soon as she could, she had stocked her bathroom full of soothing products that she had missed sorely while on the run.

Being Hermione Granger, war heroine, Golden Girl, the Muggle-Born Saviour of the Wizarding World, had many benefits. One of which, was the fact that her purchases were always being given to her for free or heavily discounted. In the beginning, she had been flustered by the attention, but now she knew it was simply easier to take it in stride.

Rubbing the thick shampoo into her hair, she sighed deeply, loving the feeling that only a proper wash could bring. All those days in the bush and swamp, she felt as though another _scourify_ was going to drive her mad.

Taking her time with her hair, carefully conditioning and lathering her body with the French imported soap, she thought about the year that lay ahead. A large portion of the Eighth Year level was familiar to her, but there was still a rather noticeable chunk of students who's faces were rather new.

A lot of them were people with more magical families, who had managed to not only survive the rounding up of possible Muggle-Borns, but many of their families had predicted that this would happen, and had Portkeyed them out of the country a long time before she had left Hogwarts with Harry and Ron.

They seemed nice enough, and it was certainly interesting for her to meet and hear about the far flung places their relatives had sent them, but the classes were rather small and Hermione had previously feared that the teachers wouldn't have time in their schedule for another class to instruct.

She thought back to yesterday's careful mixing of the Houses in her classes, how everyone had seemed to take this year's speech relatively seriously and attempt to put their differences aside. Of course, Hermione still had to dole out more than her fair share of lectures in the hallways to overeager students who took it upon themselves to antagonize others— usually, Slytherins, or people who's families didn't make the right decisions during the war.

Personally, she could understand them, but had no sympathy for people who thought they could get away with further prejudice, no matter how justified they felt about their actions. Still, the post-war societal rebuild was difficult, and she hoped that incidents like this would die down over the next few months as school progressed and people became more adjusted to civility.

Using her wand to skip the towel dry process, she wrapped her robe around her, craving a hot cup of coffee before she had to bother with getting fully ready. She let her hair remain slightly damp, braiding it down her back for now.

Filling her cup in her private kitchen, she thought about her class schedule for the day, wondering if it had truly been such a good idea to skip her usual summer reread of the upcoming school years textbooks and materials.

Thinking back to the summer, she let the nostalgia wash over her. It had been a tough beginning, but she had started the process of retrieving her parents memories.

If there was one thing she regret about the entire timeline of the war, it was that she didn't have enough time.

If she had had the time, or at least a warning of what was to come when Dumbledore was still alive, she would have been able to contact someone _proper_, an official, or... someone, just anyone more experienced than her to ask for advice for storing memories.

Obviously, she would have had to do the memory charm herself, but at least that way, she would have been able to guarantee that her parents would be able to remember everything. Even now, with the Ministry's best helping her, there was no guarantee that her parents would ever remember their old lives.

Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to stop thinking about that, and instead decided to reread her timetable for the week, trying to redirect her mind. She had a staggering amount of classes, basically every single class that they offered the Eighth Year students, besides Divination, of course, and it was incredibly hectic with the Head duties as well. She looked over the colour-coded schedule in front of her and sighed. At least this would be enough to keep her focused through the school year.

She checked the time, almost five thirty, and decided to head out to the living area to pull out some additional books from the library that caught her interest. There was no such thing as being over-informed.

"Good morning."

Hermione nearly froze at the sound of Draco Malfoy's voice so early in the morning again, still deep from sleeping. She clutched the front of her robe, immediately regretting her choice to not finish dressing before coming out. But what kind of person would be up so early?

Ignoring the urge to roll her eyes at herself for such a hypocritical question, she swallowed the last of her small cup of coffee and vanished it with a flick of her wand.

"Hello," she took a breath to settle herself, mentally berating herself for not predicting that he would be out here in their _shared_ living space. She cast a silent spell, lighting up the area in front of her, and as her eyes blinked heavily in response to the light, she saw him, poised as ever, seated on the loveseat with a stack of books on the table in front of him, and one in his hands.

It had been a surprise to find him up so early, another to find him in the middle of a heavy textbook, clearly having been at this for hours, but a final shock to him choosing to _talk_ to her, when the option of sitting in the near dark and ignoring her was clearly there.

She looked at him, eyes studiously glued to his book. He didn't look like he had slept much, and Hermione chalked it up to nerves from returning to the battleground of a war he lost, but there was something sickly about him.

She wondered what pushed him to return to Hogwarts.

Shifting slightly on her feet, she battled internally.

As strange as it seemed, she didn't have any real feelings towards him, besides a begrudging attraction, as anyone with blood in their veins would be lying if they said he hadn't grown into his rather, well, arresting features. Ignoring that, however, Hermione, realized she didn't have any real thoughts as to if she thought he was _bad_ or not.

Either way, good or bad, she didn't owe him anything and even if she did, certainly wasn't obligated to speak to him. On the other hand, it was entirely unlike her to just stare silently and run away.

Wait.

Hermione cursed internally. She had been staring this entire time. Not that she was trying to impress him, but she didn't want to seem brain dead either.

"Studying so early?"

She almost cringed at her question. _Obviously_, he was. She felt the blood rush to her ears and she looked away, unwilling to see the predictable sneer from their younger years glide its way back onto his face.

There was something nice about Draco when he wasn't being rude and she didn't want to see the transformation from whatever he was now to the Draco she knew— and punched— from childhood.

Quietly, Draco murmured in confirmation, his silver eyes flicking up to drink in the sight before him.

Hermione was a sight to behold in the morning, tanned cheeks flushed from sleep, and her still wet hair had been twisted into a braid that hung low on her back.

He didn't realize it had grown so long since the last time he had seen her. Her skin was steaming and he smelt the fresh scents of her soaps and lotions. She must have just gotten out of the shower.

She looked good, even if he ignored her rumpled and slightly disheveled satin robe. He didn't let his gaze wander, but could see even without looking down that her legs were longer and tauter than he thought they'd be, tanned enough to show the definition of her thighs.

Draco looked back down at his page, reading while thinking. He heard the sounds of her feet padding through the library, a cloud of light following behind her. A clever piece of magic. Quite enchanting too, as it made her look like she was covered in fairy dust.

He tore his eyes away from her again. It was strange how after a night of basically being unable to sleep and careful scrutinization of textbooks, he felt... better than he felt since... well, since telling Blaise about his affliction. His stomach twisted as he layered the thoughts away for future consideration.

He wondered how he was going to approach his current situation.

A year, his _last_ year, at Hogwarts, and his first real introduction into the world as an individual, his reputation tainted by his family name. For the first time he was _burdened _by being a Malfoy. If anyone had told him this two years ago, he would have had demanded their immediate admittance to St. Mungos.

In a strange way, this final year reminded him of his first year. Perhaps it was the air of uncertainty and opportunity that filled every waking moment of his day, when he wasn't distracted by his constant need for his suppressant potions, anyways.

He thought back to the first night at Hogwarts, where he experienced a lot of firsts.

It was the first time he had ever travelled without his parents or a trusted guardian that had been appointed to him, first time he had ever even set foot in a shared train compartment, first time he had ever been truly _left_ his father's world— in Hogwarts, his father's word wasn't law anymore, like it so often was in the Manor and during outings with his family in the Wizarding World, or even during supervised visits to his family friends' houses. It had been the first time he met Harry Potter, and a Weasley, as well as a real Muggle-Born.

The Muggle-Born in question was standing before him again, passing by the sofa by his side, curious eyes looking over the books in front of him.

He thought about that first day and how all of his choices had led to _this_ day, and where they were now. He thought about how he wanted _this_ day to go.

This was the first time he was alone with Hermione Granger and aware of the gravity of the world around him.

Sure, he had spoken to her alone the other day, while waiting for Blaise, but his mind was preoccupied.

Carefully, Draco Malfoy wondered how he wanted _this_ first day to go.

He decided on a smile, immediately capturing her gaze just as she was about to slip back into the shelves of the library. He caught the stutter in her walk as she almost slipped, but righted herself at the last moment. The satin fabric of her robe fluttered with her movements and he fought the urge to look at her legs again.

He didn't need to fake the smile, not really, and for some reason, as he allowed himself to face the Muggle-Born in front of him with an expression without malice in it for the first time in their acquaintanceship, he felt a strange lightness take hold of him.

Letting himself ride that unfamiliar emotion, he opened his mouth and playfully let the words slip out.

"I figured with the Golden Boys gone, you'd be able to actually get some studying in and I might as well give you some competition this year."

Hermione's eyes snapped from the books to the undoubtedly smiling face of the man in front of her.

Startled, she opened and closed her mouth, unable to say anything, the gears of her mind turning at a hundred miles an hour.

Draco Malfoy, pureblood poster boy, former Death Eater, witness to one of the most traumatic nights of her life, childhood antagonist, was _smiling_ and ... had he _joked_ with her?

She frowned before she could stop herself, running her eyes over him and squinting at his eyes to see if he has been imperiused. They were as clear as ever, and Hermione looked away, feeling unsure of how to approach him.

Just as much as she couldn't ignore the barely there curve of his lips, she couldn't ignore his words.

Had Draco Malfoy truly extended an olive branch to _her_? A spearhead of the movement that had toppled his family's empire?

What was he trying to do?

The last time she had spoken to him, he hadn't been hostile, but she had also assumed he was off guard, given the fact that he was half naked and appeared very distraught about something.

She thought back to the powerful wards she felt from his side of the Head of House living quarters.

What was Draco Malfoy hiding?

Was it anything of consequence, or was his paranoia so high that he thought she would come to his room and attack him?

If he did, why was he acting like this with her now?

If he thought she was going to attack him, should she be worried that he would attack her? Perhaps this _interaction _is setting him up for a preemptive strike? But she failed to see how.

Should she put up stronger wards in her private quarters?

Deciding to reply before too much time passed, she cleared her throat.

"Good luck." Hermione sniffed primly, chin held high despite her current attire. "This year, I won't have any of their ridiculous world-saving to deal with, although that didn't stop me from beating you every year."

He didn't let a beat pass before softly replying.

"Hm." Draco looked back down at his book. "I suppose it's lucky that I've started my research early."

Heart in her throat and the prospect of new information forgotten, Hermione gave a nervous nod, and backed away to her room as smoothly as possible.

Thankfully, she didn't trip, and as soon as the door closed, she cast a silencing charm on it, before she paused and quickly threw a few wards over it as well before she threw herself on her bed and loudly exclaimed to herself.

"What the _fuck?"_


	8. Chapter 8

Hermione rushed into the class, tawny curls flying around her shoulders as she looked for a place to sit. She knew she was almost late and— Merlin, no.

The only available place was at the _back_ of the classroom, _right_ next to the ridiculously handsy Hufflepuff couple, Alan Pierce and Rachel Loren. Currently, they were seated on his table, him sitting on the actual table, and her practically crawling on his ribs.

Shoulders dropping in disappointment, Hermione made her way to the back. Trying to ignore the sound of spit and giggles besides her, she looked around the class, spotting a few familiar faces. It was the first class of the day and she had just barely gotten across the castle in time. Even though she missed Hogwarts and not being so nomadic, she had certainly not missed these stairs.

Even if she had been used to the stairs, she was mostly at risk of being late because of Malfoy, who she had been waiting for in the morning, in order to give him her timetable, and speak to him about Head duties. Clearly they had to manage a schedule, and she knew he had just as many classes as her, so she wanted to get a hold of his timetable as well, in order to match up meeting times. This morning, he hadn't emerged from his room at all, and she had waited until the last second, frustrated, before using a sticking charm to put her timetable on his door and leaving a note requesting a conversation about meeting times.

Professor Flitwick was currently at the front of the class, holding a rather large clipboard and discussing something at length with his ministry assistant, a serious looking woman with deep red undertones to her dark skin and ... was her hair _enchanted?_ The blue braids moved of their own accord over her shoulders and gleamed as if she had woven sapphire in it.

Hermione carefully looked her over.

She was glad that the Ministry was attempting to reconcile with Hogwarts since the Umbridge fiasco, but ever since her third year, she found herself unwilling to trust any governing authority. Even in the Wizarding world, everything was much too corrupt and she looked for the ulterior motive in everything.

Looking over the class again, she spotted a few familiar faces, Neville Longbottom who appeared to be making friends with the people he was sitting by, Irena Mai showing off her enchanted tattoo to a new boy next to her, Theodore Nott using his legs to kick a drowsy Blaise Zabini, a completely asleep Gerald Prince who was having his hair turned different colours by the people sitting behind him, and Roberta Khan, looking at her makeup in a small mirror, but the majority were unfamiliar.

She let herself arrange her book bag, still irritated that the couple hadn't broken apart and soon enough, the clock struck the hour and class was in session. Pierce and Loren _finally_ separated, sitting next to each other, holding hands across the aisle. She rolled her eyes.

"Welcome, students, to the very first Eighth Year class of Charms." The small Professor was once again standing on his stack of books, and was almost startled off of them when a student shot out of her seat, exclaiming in shock.

"This is Eighth Year? Blast! I thought I was in the Seventh Year classroom!" She grabbed her book bag and, apologizing profusely, ran out the room.

Flitwick blinked slowly, his mouth opening and closing in confusion for a few seconds. Settling on a frown, he waited until the laughter died down and continued.

"Well, my name is Professor Flitwick, and I will be most pleased to instruct you on how best to utilize the new information that has come up in Charmwork this year. As you all probably know, this is a hands on class, and we will be beginning today with a hands on activity as well. Before we do so, this is our lovely Ms. Damé, someone who has been Ministry selected to learn about the art of teaching Charms at Hogwarts. I will now give her the space to say a few words." Flitwick smiled at the woman waiting next to him and waved a hand at the class, an obvious signal for her to introduce herself.

Leonora Damé surveyed the classroom, her enchanted braids twisting themselves into a low bun at the base of her neck as she stepped forward. The Eighth Year classes were rather small, less than twenty five people in the largest class, and she could feel the tension in the air.

"Good morning, students," her accent was obvious, reflecting her northern Slavic background. "I am Leonora Damé and I am Durmstrang educated. I relocated and my services lie with the Educational department of the Ministry of Magic in Britain. You may address me as Ms. Damé. I hope I can learn and assist as many students as possible in learning this elevated art of charms."

Blaise's eyes were still bleary with sleep and he missed the sharp look that Marianne Jules gave the new assistant.

As the professor spoke, Damé nodded and showed her support before returning to her post at the side of the classroom, right next to the door, in a large desk, just smaller than the professor's own.

"Damé?" Marianne whispered to Theodore. "Do you know that name? She's got to be at least halfblood if she went to Durmstrang."

"I don't think so. Her accent doesn't match her name." Theodore fired a nonverbal spell at Blaise, the resulting spark hitting him on the wrist. "Blaise, wake up."

"Hm?" Blaise massaged his wrist, glaring at his friend. "What? I don't have the pureblood registry memorized."

"There's no _registry_." Marianne rolled her eyes.

"Ask someone else." Blaise looked around, "I bet Roberta knows."

"Roberta Khan? I don't know if she even knows what classroom she's in right now. She's been staring at herself since before class started." Marianne grimaced as she turned around to look at the witch in question. She had yet to look away from the mirror in her palm. "What's she even looking at? She looks the same as she did twenty minutes ago."

"Hey, you want to know about pureblood stuff, ask her. She's better than even Pansy was."

"Who cares about this?" Theo hissed, nerves rising at the idea of being overheard discussing a teachers magical blood background. He didn't need any more accusations of being a bigot.

"Hey, calm down. I'm a Ravenclaw. We're curious. Besides, I have notes on _all_ of my teachers and their assistants. I like having information." Marianne frowned at him. "And it's not as if you're not interested. Remember the last time the Ministry was in the school? I wasn't here but my mother told me all about it from Ernie. Sounds like a nightmare. I certainly won't be missing any clues if they start trying to shift control again."

Theo frowned.

"Alright, class." Professor Flitwick was eagerly addressing the class, using his wand to spread out today's supplies. "Today, we will be practicing a very advanced elemental charm."

Leonora Damé looked over the criterium sheet and hummed to herself, tapping her fingers on her wand.

From her seat, she spotted two dark haired students, who for some reason were holding hands across the aisle and whispering to themselves at the back of the class, a rather short and stout girl who was trying hard to eat a complete meal without being spotted behind her textbook, and a boy who had fallen asleep at the side of the class and now was having his hair charmed into different colours by his seat mate.

She looked at the professor.

Flitwick either didn't notice or didn't care.

Clearly, Hogwarts had much different classroom standards than Durmstrang.

"Does anyone in the class know of the basic theory of elemental charms?" The professor had deposited a damp sea sponge on each student's desk.

Filius Flitwick was definitely an accomplished and excellent master of Charms, his quick understanding of the new curriculum for the Eighth Years cementing that for her.

Yes, as bad as the student etiquette was, there was no denying Hogwarts had some of the best teachers.

Of course, after a few days the NEWT level Seventh Years and the Eighth Year classes would merge, but for the first week, they would be covering a separate basic understanding of what was to be expected of the class, as well as a few essays and perhaps a project or two to be completed before then. The war had unearthed a massive amount of information for every magical educational institution on earth, and she personally felt that only one extra year wasn't nearly enough to learn even the basics of everything.

"Yes, Mr. Nott?"

"Elemental charms are charms that work on the subject of elements, so that draw out the forms of water or air, from an object and you can manipulate the subject with it."

"Correct, Mr. Nott! Very good, five points to Slytherin. This is all very true, however, the elemental side of magic is very underdeveloped. There are a lot of very finicky bits and pieces that come with it. The first charm we will be doing today is _Unda Vello. _This is a charm that will pull water from your object, which is the sponge in front of your desk."

Professor Flitwick demonstrated with his own sponge, drawing his wand and tilting it slightly downward as he exclaimed.

"_Unda Vello!"_

A glistening orb of water rose from the sponge and he elevated his wand, carrying it higher, before letting it sink back into the sponge.

"If you have any questions or need any assistance, please ask Ms. Damé or I. You may go ahead and give it a try."

Immediately, the students started attempting to draw water from the sponge.

Leonora watched the willowy Ravenclaw girl succeed at the first try, her wand barely moving.

"Excellent work!" She exclaimed as she walked briskly to her side. The student looked absolutely horrified at the idea of being singled out, even for compliments, for some strange reason. "What's your name?"

"Marianne Jules." The girl's eyes were a strange shade of reddish-brown and they flicked up once before staying glued to her table. "Thank you."

"Did you learn to do this before?" Leonora continued to press. Clearly, this girl had an excellent handle on her magic, especially if the sounds of frustration in the classroom was anything to go off of.

"Not this exactly... my family is well practiced in spells of ... elemental nature, and during the war, well, I relocated to America with my parents... while my father worked, my mother and her relatives taught me a lot."

"Oh, why don't you show me some of the spells you know?"

Behind Damé's back, Blaise seemed to wake up, eyes wide.

He was pretty sure that Marianne _only_ knew Dark spells from her family. Sure, some of them didn't include bodily harm, but the theory behind the charm would have been taken from a darker curse, and as a professor in training, Damé would know immediately.

He had known Marianne since they were children, as it was for most pureblood families, and she had always been a horrific liar, so he didn't know what she had planned to say if Damé pressed about the real nature. He wondered if the woman knew, since Durmstrang definitely taught a fair share of Dark Arts themselves, and she was likely from a old Wizarding family too. Theodore seemed to be thinking the same thing, and his nervous habit of shaking his leg started.

"I ... I'm not very good." Marianne said evasively, ducking her head and raising her shoulders.

"What is your mother's name?"

Leonora was very familiar with pureblood family magic, being a pureblood herself, and it could explain the girl's hesitant nature after the war. It made sense to be vague, especially in a place like Hogwarts.

"... Macmillan, ma'am."

Leonora blinked. The Macmillan family was rather overtly pro-Dumbledore and she had heard that the young Ernie Macmillan had fought in the battle of Hogwarts himself. She was unaware that the Macmillian family had such a focus on elemental magic, as she had assumed they were quite similar to the Weasley's; rather old Wizarding families, but rather unimpressive in their practice of magic.

"Ma'am. Ms. Damé?" The boy who sat next to her raised his arm insistently, obviously trying to redirect her attention to him as Marianne made her discomfort obvious.

"Pardon me, Ms. Damé?" His voice was rising as she continued to look quizzically at the student in front of her.

Leonora didn't need to ask his name. The Nott family was infamous through Europe after the war. She looked at him carefully before taking a glance at the girl, Marianne. It was strange that they were friends.

"Mr. Nott, is it?" She asked as she turned, casting a curious glance at the girl again.

"Yes." Theodore gestured towards his sponge. "I was hoping for some assistance. I can't get it to work."

Leonora looked at his sponge. It had completely disintegrated, and a pile of sand lay there instead. Clearly, there had been a lot of effort into doing this, and Leonora chuckled as she floated a new damp sponge to him.

Boys had never been subtle. At least some things never change, war or not. Looking over at the nervous black haired girl again, she waved the boy on.

"Go ahead, try again."

Nonverbally, the boy slashed his wand at his sponge, which obviously did not withdraw the water. Instead, the sea sponge appeared to compress into the size of a gumball.

Waving her wand at it and frowning at him, she restored it.

"Please follow _instructions,_ Mr. Nott." She sighed and did the charm herself for him to see. "_Unda Vello_."

An orb of water floated above the sponge and she quickly released it and nodded at him to try again.

"I'd like to take a moment to emphasize that this first three weeks of Eighth Year classes are being used to ascertain your proficiency levels— please do your best to prove your abilities, as your performance will influence the class selection at the end of this month. You will be able to request NEWT level classes, but they may be turned down if you... are lacking certain qualities." Professor Flitwick looked awkwardly at Gerald Prince who had finally managed to wake up, only to somehow make his third sponge explode.

Leonora Damé raised an eyebrow at the blank faced boy in front of her, Theodore Nott, who was pretending to have not heard the announcement. She waved at the sponge in front of him and nodded.

Not sticking around to watch, she made her way around the classroom.

"Thanks," Marianne muttered, as Theo did the charm without any struggle.

"Why do you have so much trouble admitting you're a Macmillian?" He asked, no sign of the legendary Slytherin tact, as he levitated the blob of water at her. Blaise laughed under his breath at the irritated look on her face.

"I guess I'm used to being in America. Britain's atmosphere right now about the Sacred Twenty Eight... it's nerve wracking." She admitted, watching Gerald Prince, another Slytherin, accidentally turn his sponge completely to water. "Every summer I would go to New York with my family, since it's when my father needs to be more hands-on with his business, and I never really got into the whole political side of being pureblood. Not like you or Draco or Blaise or... even Gerald, to be honest. I think even Klaus and the Weasley's have more social training than me."

Theo snorted with laughter, prodding her with his levitating water ball, soaking her hair. She scowled at him and smacked it, her hand breaking the tension of the ball and dissolving the magic, the water drops splashing on the ground. Rolling his eyes, Blaise vanished the water.

"Well, how do you like Hogwarts?" Blaise asked, curious.

"It's alright. Everyone seems a little tense."

"Why did you come back this year?"

"It was an open invitation, and my mother thought it would be best if I finished my education here. I think the war put a little tension on both of my family names, and I believe I'm supposed to rectify it."

"You?" Blaise leaned back, frowning. "Not to sound rude but do your parents actually expect you to be any good at that?"

Theo looked at her. He had known her for a while and when she disappeared in third year, he assumed she had gone off to live in America for good.

"I don't think she has much of a choice." Theo nonchalantly traced the wooden patterns on his desk with his hand. He thought about how basically everyone in the Eighth Year had the same responsibilities; carve a name out for yourself or your family, and felt the familiar chilling feeling in his gut. His father was ... well, a Death Eater, and the family name was notorious for it. "What did Blaise mean by Macmillian's hexes?"

Marianne froze, her knuckles whitening on her wand.

"In Potions, when he asked," Theo pretended not to notice her discomfort, his voice breezy. "I didn't really understand."

"Every House has their secrets."

"If Blaise knows, is it really a secret?"

Blaise laughed, tapping his wand on the table.

"For you, it is."

Theo heard the warning in her voice.

"Hm." He shrugged. "I could just ask him."

She glared at him.

"Could you?" Blaise challenges, half-joking. "Maybe I've changed my mind and I don't want to tell anyone."

"Have you?" Theo snorted. "_You_ don't want to gossip?"

"Fine, maybe I'll tell you for something in exchange. Something big. That you can't give me. So I can't tell you."

"I'll ask someone else."

"There's nothing." Marianne hissed. Theo smiled at her, clearly enjoying riling her up.

If she didn't want to talk about it, it was fine. He knew that the Macmillians had a formidable focus in hexes, obviously not curses like the Malfoy and Black families, but interesting enough.

It was rare that a Macmillian had the magical ability to even use them, though, and he was curious if she knew.

Ernie certainly wasn't anything special.

If his memories of the house were correct, the last real formidable Macmillian had been Ernie's great-uncle, a foreboding man with a scowl on his face every minute of the day.

They continued their lesson in relative silence, complying with Flitwick and Damé's instructions, barely speaking to each other, both clearly preoccupied with their own thoughts.

There was a flash of white blonde hair as Draco Malfoy burst through the door, obviously having slept in too late. His normally calm expression was twisted today, marred by irritation. Clearly someone had woken up on the wrong side of the bed. Aside from his heavy breathing and annoyed expression, and maybe a few hairs out of place, he looked the same as he normally did.

Hermione couldn't stop herself from shooting him a glare. Of course he had the luck to come in late but not have to sit with the worst couple in the world. She watched as he settled into the empty seat in front of Theo Nott, and the two friends as well as Blaise and another girl began talking.

She looked over his robes, trying to find even one crease out of place. Frowning a little, she realized she couldn't. She _knew_ it wasn't just her who threw on the nearest thing and ran for it when she was late, whenever Harry or Ron missed their alarms, they looked almost as if they had been mauled by Crookshanks. Huffing to herself, she focused on Flitwicks lecture.

"We all know that in air, there are water vapors, and with this incantation, you will be able to manipulate the temperature of it, but it's more than a simple weather charm— this charm is allowing you to draw moisture from a particular section of the air and turn its temperature up or down, handy if you need to perhaps keep an ice cream cone from melting on a hot day." Flitwick joked, demonstrating. "Or perhaps in the winter, if you're too lazy to form a snowball and just want to pluck one out of the air. Now, the incantation is _Nixe Inde_. Make sure to flick your wand accordingly!"

A small screen of ice appeared from seemingly nowhere, and Flitwick smiled.

"See? As always, keep in mind that you should allow yourselves to verbally use the incantation first, but don't become dependent on it. Aim for nonverbal execution. Go ahead!"

The class burst into motion once again.

Draco jerked awake in the seat in front of Theo as he felt the telltale tingle in his palms. Merlin, already? It had only been a few hours since he last took his potions.

He had somehow managed to fall asleep in the middle of Flitwick's demonstration of creating snow from water particles in the air, and he cursed himself as he checked the time before diving in his bag for the next batch of his potions.

They had been wearing off quicker than before, and he needed to take them more often now. He had taken his suppressants this morning, at four am, right after he spent most of his night brewing a dozen extra vials on top of his already large emergency stash, just in case.

During the process of them wearing off, he would be covered in sweat for around half an hour, and drift in and out of consciousness as his muscles locked. It was entirely unpleasant, not even thinking about the result, which would be that everyone would find out yet another secret about the Malfoy family and he wouldn't put it beneath anyone, especially now, to exploit it.

He took out a bottle and uncorked it, sipping at it as casually as he could.

"Oi, if that's Butterbeer, you'd better share." Theo squinted at the opaque container. "You have a bottomless charm in that or something? We'll all need some to get through the rest of today."

"As if your workload is hard at all," Blaise cackled. "We all know you're just back here to get sloshed and waste some time."

Draco internally groaned as he remembered Granger's note.

She had given him a copy of her timetable and it had been almost an exact copy of his own, besides two classes.

With the classes and the Head duties, she was pretty much going to be around him 24/7.

He hadn't meant it that seriously when he said he'd be her competition. But it would kill him to back down from the challenge of possibly beating Granger in a proper class, not counting Flying of course.

"Hey, I have Arithmancy next, I definitely need some. Pass it over, Malfoy!"

"It's not Butterbeer," Draco rolled his eyes at his friend when he finished it and stoppered the bottle, placing it back in his bag. "I've been feeling kind of sick, it's a potion I brought from home."

"Sick?" Theo recoiled. "Alright then, stay away from me, I don't need any more on my plate."

"Oh— you did look unwell lately." Marianne narrowed her eyes in concentration, managing to create a rather large icicle. "Maybe you should go to Pomfrey."

"It's fine." Draco said dismissively. "I'll be fine."

He stretched his fingers as he focused on the lesson, ignoring Blaise's knowing stare.


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione wrinkled her nose as she settled herself into her seat by Ginny at the dining table.

"What is that _smell_?"

Ginny tried to cover her cough and choked as she breathed in again. There was a relatively wide berth around Neville, the nearest Gryffindor squirming in their seats as they eyed him.

"Er... sorry, Hermione." Neville's ears turned bright red as he took out his wand and cast another _scourify_ on his pant legs and shoes. "Was out in the greenhouses with Malfoy."

The bottom of his dress robes and the pants underneath were darker than the rest of the material, dry enough to make it obvious he had attempted to clean himself before entering the Great Hall, but not enough to rid himself of the stench.

Hermione thought back to all of the muddy classes spent under the vague instruction of Professor Sprout and was glad she had chosen to leave Herbology out of her timetable this year. And now, looking at Neville's dirt stained hands and — Merlin, the _smell!_ She decided she should treat herself at the next Hogsmeade trip for making such a good decision.

"Malfoy in the greenhouses?" Ginny tried to laugh but choked again on the pungent air that floated from Neville's dirty robes.

"We've got a project together," Neville explained, sipping his pumpkin juice. "Us and Klaus Germaine. One of the New Eighth Years."

"What do you think of him?"

"Who? Malfoy or Germaine?" Neville asked Ginny.

"Both." Hermione answered for her, thinking back to their potions class conversation. She would be very disappointed if he still partook in any demeaning conversation, especially without cause.

"Germaine is alright. Kind of ... well, I don't know if you've spoken to him, but he's rather ... erm, loud, and, well, very Gryffindor. Takes some getting used to... I guess. He's kind of outspoken."

Hermione thought about the times she had seen Germaine at the table, roaring with laughter with a group of equally large, equally obnoxious students around him.

If anything, he was a Gryffindor through and through, and seemed to embrace the inter-house unity speech this year, as she had spotted him dining at every single table since the school year started, which was a feat in itself, since it was barely the third day.

Some of the Gryffindors snickered at his choice of words. Everyone knew Germaine's personality was larger than life, and his behavior could be outright shocking at times, with an ego to rival even Malfoy himself in first year.

"Malfoy's been just kind of there, but he's surprisingly ... well, good, at Herbology, and certainly knows more than Germaine."

"Germaine's in our potions class, isn't he?"

"Yeah," Neville seemed to get even more squeamish at the memory of potions. "Speaking of, what's your Amelioratious looking like now? Is it supposed to have congealed? Mine is — looking a bit ... strange."

"Oh, Neville." Ginny looked at him pityingly. "I don't think _any_ potion is supposed to be in a state outside of liquid."

"Well, you never know, it's a new potion..." Neville muttered to himself, giving up temporarily on his dung-stained robes. "They said they're discovering new things, didn't they?"

"No... no, Neville, my potion hasn't... erm, congealed. If you're having trouble, I could stop by the Potions lab with you tomorrow?" Hermione honestly didn't know why he was even taking Potions. Neville was almost as bad as Seamus. "I could lend you some of my notes. The first three weeks are going to be a supervised period where they get to test our abilities so they can sort classes properly for the rest of the year. It's really important to be on top of things right now."

Ginny winced at the reminder.

"Thanks, Hermione, that means a lot. I've always been absolutely horrible at Potions." Neville morosely picked at his pie. Hermione eyed it carefully. She didn't know why he bothered trying to eat while smelling like that. "But I wanted to go into something to do with plants, and Professor Sprout said that she sees a future in Herbology for me, but that means I need to have at least a decent understanding of Potions, so I can learn how to cultivate the best herbs for potioneering... so I've been trying really hard. Anyways, I haven't had the time for any of the reading for potions, this new herbology project is taking up basically all of my free time."

"Has— oh, dear Merlin—"

Ginny retched as Neville stood up in his seat and the stench became much more apparent.

"Have you had any trouble with Malfoy as your partner?" She tried to continue, holding her sleeve in front of her face.

"No, he's been pretty quiet." Neville's normally pinkish complexion was turning a sickly shade of green as he continued to jab his wand at the offending odour. "_Ergh— _Sweet Circe!"

One of his pant legs caught a spark and the smell got much heavier.

"Well," Hermione couldn't take it anymore and cast a wandless charm on Neville's robes, cutting down the odour by half. "He did seem to have a lot on his schedule this year. I haven't seen him for Head duties yet."

"You have Head duties already?" Neville still looked squeamish as he waved his wand around at his feet. "Oh, bugger it all—"

"Not really, but I wanted to organize a meeting schedule with him and he hasn't been around."

The smell had somehow multiplied and spread down the table. Suffice to say, a large amount of Gryffindors had already cast Bubble-Head charms.

"Well, I can tell him if you'd like. We're doing a group project. Malfoy and Germaine are both into potions, so we tried to ... well," Neville cast a guilty look at Hermione. "We've been trying to create certain hybrids ... just new combinations for herbs, but the tough part about plant transplants is the nutrients. Of course, we can graft them with magic but sometimes the entire plant will die ... or it won't properly take because different plants have different requirements. So we've been trying to focus hard on the roots and soil requirements."

"You're trying to create a new herb hybrid? For potions?" Hermione was shocked. This was incredibly hard to research, but with Neville's affinity for plants, she was sure if anyone could do it, it would be him. "Isn't that illegal?"

"Actually, Malfoy said— _technically, _it's not— there's nothing saying explicitly that we can't do this, I don't really remember the wording he used, but, well, when it comes to loopholes, I hate to admit it but his family are experts. It's an individual project, so Professor Sprout and her Ministry assistant, Paola Carvalho— who is super nice, by the way, Hermione, I think you'd like her— won't know what we're doing until the final presentation of the project. And if we do manage to succeed, the herb would have to be properly examined by Ministry officials anyways, so... I didn't really see an issue."

"That's interesting, Neville." Hermione encouraged, her eyes watering up at the smell. "When will you be presenting?"

"About fifteen more days, the herb doesn't have to come into maturity, but it would be good if it had some visible growth. I sent a note to Germaine about the project, but he's doesn't seem to like it that much... I wouldn't be surprised if he was blowing us off. Think he's against the hybrid idea, which was Malfoy's, but I have to admit, it's genius and, I don't want to sound selfish, but if we really manage to do something no one has done before, well— I pretty much have my Herbology internship in the bag. That _and_ it's a guaranteed in for NEWT level Herbology. They're doing placements this month. And Germaine only really agreed because his uncle has an apothecary, so I think he wants to be able to show off his brand new herb. But with Malfoy on the team, I don't think the Germaine apothecary is going to be able to privatize it. Especially not if Zabini finds out what we're doing."

Hermione looked at the Slytherin table, where Malfoy was noticeably absent, but Blaise Zabini was chatting with Theodore Nott. Ginny followed her gaze.

"Oh, the Zabini apothecary is somewhat of a ... well, legally they're very, very neutral, so you can't really call it a black market venue— and through the war, they've been neutral as well— _but,_ it's pretty hard to find any other shop that can get you _anything_ you want, even if it's Dark or banned." Ginny whispered.

"So what were you guys doing today?" Hermione asked Neville as she digested this information. She always knew Zabini was a formidable potions competitor, but now it made sense. She had a feeling that she was going to see him a lot this year in her NEWT level classes.

"We were going some preparation for the manure and other additives to help it grow, we have to let it ferment and—" Neville gestured to himself. "It's a messy process."

"Really, Neville — what _is_ that?" Ginny cursed thickly, her face turning red from coughing.

"Mooncalf dung. Among other things, honestly I'm beginning to lose track." Neville moaned as his face turned a peculiar shade of green. "I haven't managed to get a hold of Germaine yet since class, which was two days ago, so Malfoy and I started—"

An unfortunate First Year ran by behind Neville, unaware of the possibly hazardous air quality, and took a heaving breath as he sprinted, before retching immediately.

"Oh, Merlin," Halima Bayan, who was normally a tan and healthy looking Sixth Year looked pale as a ghost, gasped out besides Neville as the First Year puked fully, splattering her Bubble-Head Charmed barrier and her robes with bright orange vomit. "I— I think I'm going to be—"

She managed to vanish her own charm before throwing up across the table.

Hermione watched in horror as both Neville and four other Gryffindors began puking in earnest.

Ginny seemed to snap out of her frozen state of shock and grabbed Hermione's arm, pulling her out of her seat and almost out of range.

Another bout of puking landed on the table in front of them and splashed both their robes. Ginny cursed and tripped on her own feet in her haste to get away, accidentally toppling Hermione over alongside her.

Scrambling to their feet a safe distance away, Hermione looked at Ginny.

"Any chance you're taking Herbology? Or at least know any of Molly Weasley's cleaning secrets?"

"Come off it, Hermione, if you don't know how to deal with this smell, I definitely don't." Ginny nervously backed away from the table as the puking seemed to spread. Madame Pomfrey was already rushing over, with two interning Healers in tow.

"Well, if anyone knows how to deal with it, it's Pomfrey." Hermione felt relieved, shaking her head a little to clear the fog of nausea.

"Right," Ginny grimaced as she looked down her robes. "Let's go before it gets any worse. _Scourify_."

As soon as they made their way down the corridor outside the Great Hall, it seemed that the smell had come back.

"Merlin, did Neville track some dung in?"

"Ugh, the smell is so strong, it's giving me a headache." Hermione groaned as they turned a corner.

"Stop!" A trembling Fourth Year who looked on the verge of being sick was in the middle of the hall, using his wand to conjour a light trail and yelling at the top of his lungs. "Don't move!"

There was a small crowd, mostly Fourth and Fifth Years, who were irritably watching his display of blocking the middle of the short hall. Well, some were watching. Most of them were heckling him.

"No, stop!" He was yelling, pushing another boy who was trying to break his barrier.

"You're crazy! Get out of my way, Talius!"

"You can't!"

"Stop being ridiculous! Just let us through!"

"I'm serious, stay away!"

"Serious? You'll be dead soon enough if you don't move your little—"

The shouting was getting louder and Hermione noticed that more than a couple wands were out, and hastened her pace.

"Oi—" Ginny pushed her way to the front, eyeing the boy. "What's the meaning of this?"

"You don't understand, you've got to run!"

"What—"

Suddenly the horrific smell multiplied by what seemed by a hundred, and the boy screamed an incantation that even Hermione hadn't heard of before and created a massive Bubble-Head charm over the small crowd and himself.

Unfortunately, Draco Malfoy had turned the corner in a full run and smashed, full body, into the delicate charm, tearing it open.

Behind him, was Klaus Germaine.

The Gryffindor was almost fully covered in dirt, and somehow he smelt much, much worse than Neville.

"Talius!" Draco cursed as he got to his feet, his throat bobbing as he obviously fought the urge to join their surrounding peers in puking at the sight and smell of Klaus. "I told you to warn everyone to make way— _ergh— "_

Draco puked.

"Klaus!" Hermione quickly produced a skin-film charm for anyone who was not currently puking. "What is going on?"

"I..." The large Gryffindor was stock still, as if he was in shock. His clothes were crusted in what must have been dung and fibrous parts of plants, and Hermione forced herself to settle her stomach. "Huh?"

"Germaine!" Draco barked at him, having recovered from his puking. He felt the familiar burn of bile at the back of his throat and his nostrils felt scorched from the smell of multiple people throwing up at once, as well as the human covered in filth behind him. Through his tears, he spared a look at the witch in front of him.

Granger was almost as pale as Nearly Headless Nick, and looked as if she was about to pass on and become a ghost herself. He didn't blame her.

He had partially adjusted to the manure smell, as his potion had appeared to have been losing effectiveness without him noticing. It was supposed to last for at least another hour, but he had only discovered what had happened when two girls cornered him while he was arranging his work station for his project and they had tried to proposition him in the greenhouse.

As soon as he managed to escape, he has decided to bide his time until dinner was halfway through, so he could walk through the castle and to his quarters for his potions with the minimal chances of running into people.

So he toiled in the greenhouse, covering his pheromones by working with literal shit for hours. Longbottom had stopped by to discuss setup and help him with the preparation, but had left shortly to try to clean up before dinner.

Draco had started after his Magical Theory class, so he had skipped lunch and there hadn't been much to throw up when Germaine had crashed into his wheelbarrow of animal fecal matter.

Thankfully, when his potions began leaving his system, it usually took a while for the external effect to take on, usually only he could feel it, but those girls had already set their eyes on him before, and even a small whiff of pheromones and the sight of him alone would have been enough to prompt their approach.

Clenching his fists, he hoped no one noticed anything was off.

It would be a miracle for anyone to be able to tell— the stench that filled the corridor was immense, and there were much more distracting things than a disguised Veela going on at the moment.

Regardless, he could feel it. His blood felt as if it were abuzz with energy, and he felt much more alert than he had since ... well, anything. Since before the potions, before the war, before the Dark Lord himself. The last time he had felt like this was probably Third Year, the same year Hermione Granger punched him in the face.

He frowned and banished the memories from his mind.

Raising his eyes from where they were fixed on the castle walls in an attempt to not see the students or their puke, he accidentally made eye contact with Granger. Her eyes widened — if that was even possible, as they seemed to be in a natural state of wonder at all times — and she looked away. He wondered how long she had been looking at him. He felt something twist in his chest and he frowned, correcting his posture. He hadn't even been aware that he had been leaning towards Granger. Perhaps his equilibrium was off. He _had_ just thrown up. He ignored the pressing need to step forward and get closer to her. Absurd.

In an effort to _not _stare at the girl in front of him, he looked behind her, where the only Weasley girl, Ginerva Weasley, was tryingto usher the pukingstudents away. He caught the prefect badge on her robes. Makes sense. He watched her successfully get most of the people to leave, but one last Fifth Year turned and hurled, directly over her feet. Weasley puked too.

Draco's eyes snapped away as he felt his own stomach curl.

Slowly tuning back into the world around him, he realized that Germaine, the bumbling Gryffindor prat, was talking. Finally.

"... it was raining outside, and I just got Longbottom's note from the Owlery— we have a project together, and I thought if I ran, I could make it, fell asleep after Divination, you know how it is, but I guess I wasn't watching where I was going and..."

Ginny had managed to herd most of the students away from the corridor, and her and the younger student, Talius appeared to be his name, were now vanishing the puddles of puke on the castle floors.

"I crashed into a wheelbarrow. I fell into a bunch of fertilizer, but it's not coming off. Ran into Malfoy when he was leaving the greenhouse, well to be honest, I think I was in shock... think I still am, er... I was kind of knocked out by the wheelbarrow hitting my head when I fell."

"Merlin, Malfoy, you'll need to take him to the infirmary, he's not even throwing up. Maybe there's something — " Hermione swallowed her bile as her charm wore off. "— wrong with him."

"I've been trying to do that." Malfoy gestured to Talius, who had been guiltily trying to sink into the shadows. "After I tried to get most of the filth off of him, I tried to get him to get everyone out of our way, but obviously—"

"Alright," Hermione cast a new Bubble-Head Charm on herself and Malfoy. "Ginny, I'm going to help him bring Klaus down to the infirmary, hopefully Pomfrey's Ministry assistant will be down there."

Suspiciously looking at Malfoy, but unable to open her mouth to say anything without puking, Ginny nodded and fled.

Taking a quick jog, Hermione led the way.

"Come on," she heard Malfoy hiss at Germaine, who seemed to be in complete shock at his current state, and she heard two pairs of footsteps quicken their pace behind her. She had seen him a couple times in the hall before, and he had always been a rather boisterous personality with his friends, enough so to irk her, but she didn't think he deserved _this._

She heard the Slytherin behind her mutter curses as they rounded the corner and spotted more students.

"Move!" She ordered frantically, casting a shield charm as they passed a group of students. It was barely an improvement, as two out of three puked anyways. "Merlin, Malfoy, what did he slip in?"

"We're working on a project for herbology." Malfoy said somewhat stiffly behind her. She guessed he didn't like revealing much, even about a school project. It didn't matter, she could just ask Neville about it. "Just before dinner, Longbottom and I had started the physical preparation, as we already finished most of the research. We knew what to do in theory, and now we just needed to take it to the field and do it in practice and see if our hypothesis would stand in the open."

Hermione nodded as she continued walking at a pace that would be better described as a jog in an effort to stay ahead of him, but something in her ego didn't feel good about having to run to keep ahead of his strides. Her chest was already rising and falling just short of a pant, and his smooth words didn't seem to be affected by his pace.

"I didn't know mooncalf dung smelt _this_ bad." Hermione frowned at how stilted her breath was, her quickened breathing obvious as she spoke.

"Well..." Malfoy hesitated behind her and she heard his footsteps speed up again. "It's not... just mooncalf dung."

"Hold your breath!" Hermione loudly warned the crowd of students down the hall as they turned the corner. She cast a nonverbal shield charm again, and motioned with her arms for them to get out of her way. Only about a quarter of them retched and half of that puked, while the majority managed to escape before the fumes got to them. An improvement, honestly, with past run-ins considered. "What else was in it? Pomfrey's going to have to run a diagnosis anyways. It would be easier for her if we could just tell her."

"It was fresh Mooncalf dung, and not the diluted ones that Hogwarts buys, you know that cheap Jenkil brand that Sprout uses. I... bought it for the project. It had to be fresh and we had to use it with an infusion of other materials."

Hermione wondered why he sounded upset to admit he bought something for group usage. Was it a crime to admit to being nice to your classmates and supplying some ingredients?

"Other materials?" She asked, pressing on his vague wording. She rolled her eyes, if the Malfoy's hadn't been so against Dumbledore, they would have found that they have the same affinity to use evasive and incredibly nondescript vocabulary, something that frustrated her beyond belief when Harry was following Dumbledore's orders.

"Kappa blood, ground Augurey shells, fire salamander blood, powdered Graphorn horns, Snallygaster bile. The Kappa blood mixing with the Snallygaster bile makes a horrendous, partially toxic cloud of gas, which... can explain at least a quarter of the smell, but I had it contained in the wheelbarrow, and I just added the ground Augurey shells and Graphorn horn mixture with the fire salamander blood when he smashed into everything, which disrupted the wards. And ... well, I tried my best to get the stuff off of him, but it's like stone now. You know how Graphorn ingredients are." Draco wondered if he was going to regret admitting these things as he assumed Granger was an animal rights fanatic, but had already cast a nonverbal silence spell around the two of them, as Germaine had lagged behind, no doubt still stunned by his bad luck. She was friends with Longbottom anyways, and would have probably gotten it out of him ... if he had managed to remember the list, which he thought was unlikely. "Anyways, the shell and horn powder needs to be carefully folded in with the fire salamander blood and then the ... ah, paste, really, for lack of a better word — since even when freshly mixed, it's almost as hard as rock— has to be really carefully measured out and infused in the fresh dung and then you need to allow the mixture to ferment —"

"Ground Augurey shells? Powdered Graphorn horns?" Hermione stilled suddenly and turned, current task put behind her with the shock of what he had said. Draco had been attempting to put distance between him and the walking dung man, Germaine, and crashed fully into her, cursing his luck on the way down.


End file.
